


It Has Always Been Forever

by SuhailaUniverse



Category: Outlander (TV), Outlander Series - Diana Gabaldon
Genre: F/M, It Has Always Been Forever, Modern Edinburgh AU, Neighbours AU, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-30
Updated: 2017-02-27
Packaged: 2018-09-20 22:27:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 24
Words: 41,254
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9518711
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SuhailaUniverse/pseuds/SuhailaUniverse
Summary: Claire and Jamie live next door to each other in Edinburgh. It’s a bit of a slow burn, but their journeys always lead to each other :)





	1. Chapter 1

##  **Part 1.**

 They’d lived next door to each other for well over three years and had barely said one word to the other - other than the occasional ‘hullo’ and exchange of pleasantries or lingering look in the hallway or stairwell. They were more like passing ships in the night – She’d see him come home from a long day’s work, tension drawn all over his face, just as she was headed out to start her night shift at the hospital. Then later as she stumbled back at dawn, body aching from the grueling hours, to see him stepping out for his customary early morning run.

Their apartment walls weren’t as thick as some may have liked, but she’d come to love hearing him through the walls in those occasions they happened to be home at the same time. His horrendous, tuneless singing as he made himself something to eat. The way he indignantly bellowed at his TV when his favourite character died or his footy team lost a match, or speaking in rapid Gaelic as he chatted on his phone, never failed to put a smile on her face and filling her with a sense of quiet comfort.

He too had grown to love smelling the charred remnants of a meal she’d been cooking and the accompanying flurry of cussing that followed as the smoke detector went off. Loved when she’d leave her balcony doors open on Sundays and he’d sit on his listening to her humming to herself, the floral scents wafting into his living room as she mixed this herb or that, or when she read her flash cards out loud, memorizing one grisly condition after another.

They’d never really spoken, but they knew the other’s routine as if it were their own; whether meaning to or not, whether liking to or not. Claire knew when exactly the rugby would be on, she’d hear the lads rampaging through the hallway like a crash of rhinos, knew Jamie’d always run out of beer, with the inevitable chiding from his mates in raucous Gaelic, inevitably hearing his door open and close and his hurried footsteps through the hall as he rushed to the store to get some more.

She always kept extra in her fridge just in case he ever knocked on her door.

***

The only time Jamie hated knowing so much about his neighbour was when her husband was home. As far as he could tell – and what he’d gathered from helping their nosy neighbour Mrs. Bug with her groceries up the stairs on occasion – Frank Randall lived in England, where he taught history at Oxford. And Claire, studied medicine in Edinburgh, doing her residency at the local hospital. Claire had married young and had already been qualified as a nurse, just before being accepted into med school a few months later, while Frank had been well established at Oxford already. Six years of marriage, Mrs. Bug had said, and they’d barely lived together.

When Frank was in Scotland, all Jamie could hear was polite, quiet exchanges, the occasional argument or chastising remarks from Frank about her “rather unseemly swearing” that just irked Jamie to no end – he couldn’t imagine ever treating her like that. And - to his horror - the sounds of lovemaking drifting from her open windows – her bonny wee noises punctuated by the man’s grunts that made Jamie’s skin crawl. His only defence; cramming in his earbuds and cranking up the volume to the noisiest music he had, a book in hand. And when the images couldn’t be drowned out; a late night run. Since Jamie had moved in, he’d only actually seen Randall perhaps a couple of times in years, yet the sight of the man irritated him and filled him with an ache so piercing he couldn’t begin to explain. Once, seeing them hand in hand going into her apartment, Claire trying her hardest not to meet his eye, hurt more than he could bear.

_She isna yours, dammit! Dinna be tying yerself up in knots for a woman that you know damn well isna yours!_

For the most part, he could make himself forget. Forget she belonged to someone else without the constant reminder around. Yet, he couldn’t help but sense something _off_ about her marriage. They weren’t unhappy as such, but they weren’t exactly overflowing with passion for each other either. They were reserved with one another. He found it strange how formal they would be. Perhaps, after such long periods apart, the distance didn’t give them a chance to be too familiar?

“Ye need to stop pining, lad.” His godfather Murtagh would constantly urge. He’d seen Jamie fall but had been powerless to stop it. Jamie’s mates, Rupert and Angus, knew of a few girls who would jump at the chance to date him and had tried setting him up numerous times. None managed to stick though.

Rupert though, had one girl in mind that he thought may (or rather hoped) do the trick and pull Jamie’s gaze away from his married, English neighbour. A young, pretty Mackenzie girl – Laoghaire.


	2. Chapter 2

##  **Part 2.**

 Claire had always tried making time for Frank. His recent weekend trip had been impromptu, showing up at her door with flowers and a “Surprise darling!” leaving her scrambling to change her shifts around as best she could at the hospital, so as to carve out some time with him.

“I’m sorry, Claire,” he said again. “I know how inconvenient it can be to have to rearrange your schedule on such short notice, but I thought it’d be nice.”

“It’s fine! It’s lovely to see you, I just have to make a few phone calls, is all.” She reassured him.  

She’d managed it though, and for the most part, they’d spent a lovely Saturday afternoon together, visiting this antique bookstore or that museum. Only when they came back home, takeout in hand – Jamie walking in at the same time – did something change in Frank’s demeanour.

“Hullo,” she said as cheerily as she could to Jamie.

“Hi.” He replied stiffly, exchanging a look with Frank that said far more than she cared to think about.

All three walked up the stairs in an awkward, charged silence. Four flights never seemed so long in all her life, slowly making their way to their respective apartments, the click and clop of their shoes against stone steps echoing through the stairwell. When Frank saw Jamie head to the door beside hers, he snorted loud enough for both Claire and Jamie to pause briefly, keys halfway turned in their locks. Jamie was first to stir and quickly disappeared into his apartment without a word.

Before she’d even got the door closed properly, Frank rounded on her. “Who is he?” he asked sharply.

“Who? My neighbour?” she said, trying to buy herself time to compose herself as she placed the takeout on the kitchen table. The last thing she wanted was a fight. Frank just stood, arms crossed against his chest, waiting.

“His name’s Jamie Fraser, I think. He’s lived over there for a few years now. I’ve - We’ve never spoken, but out of courtesy. And kindness.” She kept her voice level, looking Frank straight in the eye. Nothing had ever happened, nor was it going to and she didn’t appreciate being glared at. “Is there something you need to say, Frank?” she asked, voice still level.She hoped.

“I didn’t care for how that man looked at you,” he said shortly. She could see his temper begin to build, yet he made an effort at keeping it bay.

“I’m not fighting about this. I can’t control how people look at me, much less someone I’ve never talked to for more than 30 seconds in years!” she said suddenly fuming, voice rising. “You’re picking a fight right now, and I’m not wasting what little time we have on this.” Claire had moved into the living room - flicking on the lights with more force than strictly necessary - realizing her balcony doors were open, and if his apartment was anything like hers, Jamie had most probably heard their spat. Sure enough as she reached the sliding doors, she caught a glimpse of him slipping back into his living room.

_Damn…_

“Let’s just have dinner, yeah? You leave tomorrow night, let’s make the best of it,” she said striving for tenderness. Seeing her sincerity, Frank’s shoulders relaxed and he held up his hand for her to take.

“Of course, darling. I don’t really know what came over me. Please forgive me.” He finished quietly. Taking his hand and giving it a bit of a squeeze, they silently began unpacking their dinner.

***

Jamie had moved quickly but quietly to his balcony, uttering Gaelic oaths under his breath. He needed air.

He’d seen her - but not _him_ – till it was too late, and had rushed to “bump” into her. But as he entered their building, he saw him, hand on the small of her back, whispering something in her ear that made her smile, and Jamie froze. When they saw each other, her man’s hand moved to her shoulder and tightened slightly. He had a sudden urge to slap the man’s hand off her.

Now, Jamie could hear them arguing about him. Heard how hard she tried to keep the emotion from her voice as spoke about him. He’d heard her thousands of times, in a thousand different ways through the wall and knew every minute tonal shift she made when speaking. Jamie could sense there was _something_ bubbling under the surface of her words, yet her husband didn’t seem to pick up on it himself.

 _It’s no’ but wishful thinking_ , he told himself, but couldn’t help but wonder, _would yer face be as transparent to me as yer voice is, Sassenach?_  

He gripped the balcony railing fit to snap it in half. Irrational as it was, he wanted so badly to hop over onto her balcony, burst through the doors and claim her as his (their balconies being separated by a wee 2 inch gap), but knew it wasn’t his place. _Yet_. Then he felt the change in her cadence as she moved towards her balcony. He rushed back in just before she saw him. Pacing back and forth, he realized they’d suddenly gone quiet. _No’ but wishful thinking._

As his agitation built, he grabbed his cellphone and angry-dialed Rupert’s number.

“Set it up.” He barked without preamble, when Rupert picked up.

“Aye? And what would I be setting up?” he asked, somewhat confused.

“The date with yon lass, Laoghaire, is it?” Jamie said impatiently.

“Och aye, to be sure! How does next Saturday do for ye?” Rupert sounded pleased to finally be taken up on his offer, which just irritated Jamie even more.

“Aye, fine.” He said and hung up, throwing the phone onto his couch with more force than strictly necessary.


	3. Chapter 3

##  **Part 3.**

 After a charged dinner with Frank, they’d spent their time in an amiable companionship, staying well clear of the topic of Jamie. Frank left the next day with an exchange of half-hearted ‘ _I love you’s_ ’ and a promise to visit more often – Claire giving him the same promise. She’d always hated any kind of goodbyes; they always left her in a state of melancholy for a few days after. She’d spent the week in a rather sullen mood. She hadn’t seen Jamie once; he’d clearly been avoiding her after what happened with Frank. She couldn’t blame him really and thought perhaps it was for the best, but oddly, she missed seeing him all the same. He’d become her constant, part of her every day.

His apartment too had been unnaturally quiet, though she knew he was there – she could hear the low hum of his television from time to time, or his deep voice rumbling through the stairwell as he helped Mrs. Bug with her groceries.

By the time Saturday came, she was completely out of sorts. She’d come down with a cold and had to be sent home early from the hospital to get some rest. There had been a light drizzle she thought she could handle, being only a 15 minute journey on foot (having forgotten her umbrella at home) but which had soon turned into a proper downpour halfway through her walk.

_Should’ve known_ , she thought grumpily and sneezed. _Bloody Scotland._

With relief she’d finally made it back home – albeit thoroughly soaked, her nose running, the tip of it cold as ice – but stopped short of her door by the sight of Jamie and some blonde girl locked in what could only be described as a passionate embrace. The girl had pinned him to his door, their hands doing all manner of explorations.

Claire had been rooted to the spot when Jamie eyes flicked open for an instant, seeing her. Shock flitted across his face, then almost immediately replaced by something she couldn’t quite read, his concentration snapping back to his companion – not once losing his rhythm during the exchange. Claire blinked rapidly trying to regain herself, fumbling to get her keys out of her bag. She tried keeping her eyes stubbornly averted, but glanced involuntarily over as the girl moaned against him. He made a few unsuccessful grabs for his door handle; finally getting a hold on it and just like that, they’d vanished into his apartment, leaving Claire stunned in the suddenly silent hallway.

***

Claire numbly walked into her flat and sat down on her sofa, so absorbed in her thoughts of the last few minutes she never noticed she painfully clutched her keys to her chest or that she sat in complete darkness. The sounds of female laughter coming from Jamie’s permeated through the walls - and her skin, making it prickle uncontrollably - stirred her back to herself and realizing the very last thing she wanted to hear was what was going on next door, got up and smashed every open window and door shut (though it wasn’t likely to help), not even bothering with the lights.

She stomped aimlessly around her apartment, torn between either bursting into tears or a powerful urge to go mental and break things, unable to get her thoughts sorted. She did neither, but was bitterly angry, she knew that much.

_But why? You hardly even know him, Beauchamp! He isn’t bloody yours to get territorial about!_

She’d found her way to her bedroom, slamming the door hard enough to rattle the windows. Grabbing a towel from her bathroom, she roughly ran it through her damp hair, trying to erase the image of the two of them from her mind. It was no use, though. And what was worse, her imagination was all too eager to help form detailed scenarios currently taking place next door.

Throwing the towel on the floor, she quickly stripped off her wet clothes, slipped on the comfiest pajamas she could find, and getting into bed, grabbed the Night Nurse from her bedside table. If she couldn’t stop the thoughts mercilessly racing through her mind, then she chose oblivion.

Between her cold, exhaustion and agitation, it didn’t take too long for the cold medicine to take effect. She was out cold within a few minutes, her pillow damp from more than just her hair.

***

The date had been pleasant. They’d chatted genially enough, Laoghaire sat right next to Jamie at dinner (which he found slightly odd, and uncomfortable, for his neck began to ache from having to turn to look at her when she spoke - which was often. Eventually though, he just stopped turning), touching his arm or shoulder, and when she’d had a wee more to drink; his knee and upper thigh.

Jamie had sat trying to loosen up and pay attention to her; he hadn’t been on a proper date in a long time, not since Annalise. Laoghaire was small and pretty, Rupert had said as much, but Jamie hadn’t trusted his friend all that much on the matter. For the most part, his mind did its best to stay focused on the lass; the drink also helped. A lot.

She’d clung to him under his umbrella as they left the restaurant, stumbling their way down the street, both not a little inebriated. She did most of the talking, he preferred it that way – plus he couldn’t have gotten a word in edgewise if he tried.

After a while though, the rain drowned her out and as much as he needed a break from her shrill voice, it did, however, do one thing well; diluted his thoughts of Claire by sheer volume alone. Now though, with nothing but the sound of the rain, images of Claire’s bonny hair curling madly about her shoulders danced before him - _what would it look like wet from the rain, I wonder_ \- her sweet voice as she sang on lazy Sundays, her smile that made his wame flip over, the scent of her filling him as much as that of the rain around him… Abruptly he turned and kissed the lass. Mid-sentence as she was, she didn’t at all seem put off by the interruption.

Somehow they’d made it back to his apartment and he found himself plastered to his door. They’d been there a while, he’d gotten as far as turning the key, but the lass seemed content with their current location.

He hadn’t heard Claire climbing the steps, but his eyes snapped open the moment he heard her sharply draw in her breath at the sight of them. She was wet and disheveled, the tip of her nose bright red – he could tell she had a cold - and as beautiful as ever he’d seen her; he burned. Her face soon flushed as red as her nose, her eyes transforming from stunned shock to pure distaste. Was she _jealous?_

_Good._

He went back to the task at hand, fumbling but finally finding his door handle – the lass having managed to slip her hands beneath his jacket and had begun rucking up his shirt.


	4. Chapter 4

##  **Part 4.**

 He woke up the next day, head fit to burst and Laoghaire putting on her shoes – she’d already gotten dressed. Her back was turned to him; from the tension in her shoulders he could tell she was upset. He sat up, running his hands through his hair, rubbing his sore neck, trying to wake himself up fully. He’d fallen asleep awkwardly on the couch.

“I’m sorry.” He said simply and very quietly.

“Dinna fash yerself. It happens.” She replied without turning around. “We can always give it another go some other time, aye?” She turned looking angry, but hopeful.

“Aye.” He said rather lacklusterly.

She smiled then, her anger forgotten instantly. “I’ll have ye, Jamie Fraser. I’ll make ye mine. We just need more time together!” She came over and gave him a disconcertingly thorough kiss, turned and left.

He lay back replaying the night’s events over in his mind and the more he thought, the more his wame twisted and curdled. Before he could throw up, he got up and headed for the shower (not before locking his front door, lest Laoghaire come back having “forgotten something”).

He’d realized his mistake almost as soon as they’d entered his apartment the night before. It wasn’t so much something Laoghaire’d done specifically, but more how it made him feel. He’d felt awkward and uncomfortable alone with the lass, yet mightily roused. He’d been burning, yes, but more for Claire than Laoghaire - and the thought of taking her, while his mind and body yearned for another, felt completely wrong. He’d tried pushing Claire out of his mind, but simply could not.

Alone in the shower, he began to harden at the mere thought of Claire – something that hadn’t felt at all right with Laoghaire.

The lass had pulled him roughly into his bedroom and undressed him – and herself – faster than he’d ever thought possible and had eased herself back against the pillows drawing him inexorably toward her. His body tensed immediately as it came into full contact with hers and he pulled away.

“I… canna.” He’d whispered eyes screwed shut, a cold sweat breaking out over his entire body as he strained to keep what little control he had left of himself.

“What? What d’ye mean ye canna!” she said bewildered, looking down the length of him to see that he could indeed.

“It’s… I just canna do this! Not now, nay like this,” he said getting off the bed and grabbing his trousers, yanking them back on. “Ye can stay here the night. It’s much too late to be walking home in the rain, alone.” _And taken wi’ drink as ye are – as we both are_.

“But-” she made to protest, but he’d pulled on his shirt, already backing away to the door. “Have the bed. I’ll just… sleep on the couch, aye.” And before she could say anymore, he’d firmly shut the door behind him with a mumbled “I’m sorry”.

He’d spent the rest of the night, tossing and turning on the cramped couch, torn between lust and guilt.

Now, he stood under the shower, trying to wash away the memories of the night before. His sober mind seeing again the shattered look on Claire’s face, _her glass face, God, it was as transparent as her voice_ , and his wame had finally had enough. He barely made it the couple of steps – slipping and sliding - to the toilet bowl before puking, his body spasming from the force of it.

***

He felt an inexplicable need to go over and talk to Claire. _And say what, exactly?_ he didn’t know, or why he felt he had to so strongly. He knew she sometimes had Sundays off, but having not gone into the hospital the previous weekend because of _him_ , and having come home early the night before – he shuddered at the memory - he had a feeling she’d be making it up today – whether she was feeling better or not. Perhaps he could catch her before she left.

He knocked a few times – seconds stretching into minutes. And no answer. Maybe he’d missed her? Or she was ignoring him. He shut his eyes and braced his hands on either side of the door frame, knuckles white, his heart erratically thumping in his chest.

“Claire, please,” he said. “Are ye home, Sassenach? Please, I need to speak wi’ ye.”

“She isna home, laddie,” came Mrs. Bug’s voice behind him. He turned to see the wizened lady’s head peeking out of her apartment. _Having heard me pleading._

“Has she left for work, then?” he asked, his mind calculating how quickly he could make it to the hospital. _Five minutes tops, if I run._

“Nay, _a leannan_. She left for Oxford early this morn,” Mrs. Bug replied.

His heart sank. He swallowed audibly, afraid to ask anymore, but he had to know.

“Did ye speak wi’ her? Did she no’ say when she’ll be back?” he said, a slight tremble in his voice.

“I only spoke to her briefly, as Arch and I got back from church. She seemed well fashed! Couldna stand still for more than a second at a time. Said she took her leave - that which the hospital had been urging her to take from afore. From the looks of the luggage she piled into the taxi, looked like she may be gone a while.” She finished quietly, seeing his face crumple at her words. “Is everything alright?” she asked tentatively.

“No, Mrs. Bug,” he said, dejected. “It isn’t.”

He thanked her and headed back to his flat feeling as though the world had just fallen out from under him.


	5. Chapter 5

##  **Part 5.**

 Claire had woken that morning, head clogged to the brim, nose raw and eyes swollen, feeling absolutely wretched. She slowly got out of bed, unsure if her head was still attached to the rest of her body as she made her way to the loo, only to step on her still slightly damp clothes, immediately being flooded with images from the night before.

She groaned, wanting nothing to do with the memory of Jamie and his companion. She sat at the foot of her bed, willing the images out of her mind’s eye, then - when the visions persisted – she got up with decision and yanking her closet open, found the bags she needed and began to pack. She needed more than air, she needed distance – she didn’t care where or for how long, she just knew she needed to leave.

***

The taxi she’d called for was waiting as she made her way out the building when she met the Bugs’ coming back from church. As much as she wanted to be gone – didn’t want to risk bumping into either of the two  _lovebirds_ – she knew she couldn’t be rude with Mrs. Bug. And so, as Arch Bug helped her stuff her suitcases unceremoniously into the taxi, she tried chatting a little bit, but couldn’t help being abrupt.

“But, where are ye headed, lass?” asked Mrs. Bug for the umpteenth time.

She hardly knew herself and said the first place that popped into her head, the place where she’d more-or-less grown up.

“Oxford.”

“Och aye! Off to see yer husband is it? Miss him already?” whispered Mrs. Bug, nudging her conspiratorially.

 _Shit._ She couldn’t even remember the last time she’d even thought of Frank.

“Yes. Thought I’d surprise him,” Claire replied, trying to sound as convincing as she could. She couldn’t help but shift agitatedly from foot to foot, itching to be on her way.

“Aye, weel,” said Mrs. Bug seeing her eagerness to leave. “Safe travels, lass.”

Claire threw herself into the taxi, hearing Mrs. Bug’s belated bellow _“When will ye be back!?”_  just as the taxi – thankfully - sped off. _When indeed._

She still hadn’t a destination in mind by the time she’d made it up to the ticket counter at the train station and the rather bored looking man behind the counter asked, “Where to, ma’am?”

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. _Fuck it._

“Oxford.”

***

“It’s really lovely seeing you, darling. I must confess though, you have caught me in a bit of a tight spot. See, things at the university are rather hectic at the moment. I will try, but I hate to say I may not be able to free up any time.” Frank finished apologetically as he put on his coat and headed for the door.

Claire sat, cup of coffee in hand, utterly exhausted. The journey had been long, longer still when left alone with her thoughts. She’d arrived late the previous night, waking a befuddled Frank up from a deep sleep with a “Surprise darling” of her own.

“It’s completely fine, Frank. I’ll just do some sightseeing, yeah,” she said with a laugh.

Even though she’d been born in Oxford, she hadn’t really seen the place. Some time outside, alone, leaving all things Scottish behind for a while, sounded like just the thing she needed.

“Well, alright. But if you need anything.” He said distracted as he went through some papers in his briefcase.

“I’ll call,” she replied as he closed the door behind him.

In truth, she’d been too tired the first few days into her two week escape to do much of anything but lounge on Frank’s couch, binging tv shows all day – much to Frank’s disapproval. She finally roused herself on the fourth day to take a walk. It was a beautiful sunny day; families out together enjoying what summer sun there was, carefree couples casually strolled together, hand in hand. It was calming – something that she’d been lacking since leaving Scotland.

Her anger, that bubbling urge to rip out her hair – and _his_ and _hers!_ \- had subsided somewhat and she started thinking about what it was that had truly upset her about her encounter with Jamie. Though a dreadful stab of - _call it what it bloody is, Beauchamp!_ \- jealousy always struck her deeply, with a cooler head, she could bring herself to examine it for what it was. She had feelings for him.

 _How is that even possible! You don’t know him,_ part of her mind said. It was completely irrational. _But you do know him,_ another part of her argued. _You know more about him than just his routine. You know the type of beer he likes and the way he takes his coffee. You know what makes him laugh and what upsets him. You can gauge his mood by the tone of his voice through a fucking wall, for God’s sake!_

She did know those things and then some; she couldn’t deny she knew him – albeit in an utterly unorthodox way. Perhaps better than she did Frank in a lot of ways. Only the day before, she found out Frank was allergic to cats, when she found his antihistamines in his bathroom. Surely – after six years - one would know something as intimate as that about their spouse? It’d been the smaller things she began to take note of then - Frank’s habits and tics - and realized none had been all that familiar to her.

She wondered for the first time if Jamie had come to know _her_ as intimately as she had him. The thought disconcerted her, yet a quiet part of her hoped he had. And what if he hadn’t? Had she invaded his privacy? Intruded on those secret moments he thought himself safely alone in.

No, she’d seen how he looked - _really looked_ \- at her – as brief as they saw each other - his smile hidden in the corners of his wide, sweet mouth. Or the knowing glint in his eye and the slight tremble in his voice in greeting - suppressing a laugh no doubt - that time he saw her getting her mail wearing her scorched and blackened round the edges Stevie Nicks tee she’d used once to put out a small stove fire.

She hadn’t imagined those things.

***

She got back to Frank’s flat well after dark. By the looks of him, he’d just gotten home himself. As tired as he was, he’d offered they go out for a nice dinner, but Claire had only one thing on her mind. She’d come to a decision and there wasn’t any point in dragging it out any further. Still, there were a few things she needed to know.

“We need to talk, Frank.” Her tone made his head jerk towards her.

“What’s wrong?” he asked warily.

“Nothing’s wrong, really. I’ve just been – Frank, are you happy?” she asked abruptly. At his look of confusion, she pressed on. “With us, I mean. With how things are between us. Do you find yourself happy?”

He didn’t answer right away, but went and got a couple of beers from the fridge. “I wouldn’t say our situation is ideal by any means,” he began slowly, handing her one. “But I wouldn’t say I’m _un_ happy.”

“At first I thought me going to Scotland wouldn’t be such a bad thing. It’s only a few hours away. But… we hardly ever see each. Hardly ever talk -  _really_ talk. I feel I know you less now than I did when we married.” She finished apologetically.

“Well, we can always work on seeing one another more? Skype or you can transfer here-“ he stopped abruptly at the shake of her head.

“That isn’t it. Not all of it, at least. Frank, can I ask something of you?” At his nod, she continued, “will you give me honesty? You have my word, you’ll have mine.”

He nodded once more.

“Have you been with other women?” she asked baldly.

“Claire! I-” he seemed thoroughly taken aback, but after a moment, quietly replied, “Yes.”

She’d braced herself. Somewhere inside her, the thought had lingered for a while. Yet, she didn’t have even the slightest pang of jealousy at the knowledge of his infidelity. Some disappointment - yes, but no anger. Frank was an intelligent and attractive man. She found it hard to believe a man like him wouldn’t at least be tempted at some point through all the years they’d been apart.

“It wasn’t something that was… prolonged in any way. Only when flirtation became something a little _more_.” He said tentatively. “And you? That Scottish fellow…” his voice trailed off, leaving the question open.

“No. I haven’t. And Jamie’s just been my neighbour, I’ve said as much.”

“I feel like there’s a ‘but’ in there. What aren’t you saying, Claire?”

“I can’t explain it. I’ve just come to _know_ who he is in a way. And have found myself growing rather fond of him.” she said, shyly.

“How?! If you’ve never spent any time with the man, for Christ’s sake!” he said agitated.

She took a deep breath, trying to find the words to explain something quite inexplicable. How could she even begin making him understand what it was she felt, when she couldn’t make sense of it herself?

“There’s a… a freedom when you’re alone to truly be yourself. To hide no part of yourself when you think no one’s watching – or in this case, _listening_. At first, it wasn’t something I was at all conscious of. But after a while though, I’d grown to long for it without knowing it. Grown to find comfort in hearing him through the walls. Seeing him simply walk by me…” She looked at Frank, who’d been staring at her, skepticism written all over his face and knew she’d never be able to make him see what it was she meant.

“Listen to me, Frank. This isn’t about other women or men. It’s about us. This hasn’t been a real marriage in a very long time. We care for each other and genuinely have love between us, but I can’t help but feel we aren’t really _in_ love anymore. You can’t deny there’s been something missing.” She searched his face and saw the confirmation she’d been looking for. Whatever it was between them now, was more obligation than anything else, and he knew it.

“All I want - ever wanted - was for you to be happy, Claire. But no, I can’t deny it.” He said gravely. He knew what was coming, but asked anyway. “Where do we go from here, then?”


	6. Chapter 6

##  **Part 6.**

**  
**

_“From the looks of the luggage she piled into the taxi, looked like she may be gone a while.”_   


_Gone…_

 Jamie’s right hand was a proper mess. He’d managed to do an excellent job of smashing it to a pulp. In his anger at Claire’s leaving, he’d left Mrs. Bug in the hallway and went back to his flat, shut the door, walking steadily and deliberately to his balcony doors and drove his hand through the glass. It took a few thudding punches before the glass broke, the shattered shards slashing open his hand. In his haze of silent fury, he hadn’t felt any pain, instead yanked at the door’s frame till a piece broke off its rails and used it to further destroy anything within reach. Finally exhausting himself, he sat down abruptly amidst the carnage, ears ringing.

Though he had no recollection of having made any noise, the Bugs’ must have heard the stramash, for old Arch Bug had quietly walked in and sat beside him. He didn’t seem all that shocked by the devastation.

“Yer hand is going to need a fair bit of tending, lad,” he said almost serenely.

“It doesna hurt,” Jamie replied with a blank stubbornness.

Lifting his own right hand, Arch Bug examined the stumps of his two missing fingers. “Aye, weel,” he said gruffly. “It will. Come now, lad. I’ll get ye to the hospital.” Arch said getting up and offering Jamie a battered old hand.

***

As Jamie waited in the emergency room, hand wrapped in a towel, Arch Bug told him the story of how he’d lost his fingers - sliced off in a factory accident when he was a young man. For a Scotsman, Jamie reflected, Arch Bug wasn’t much of a storyteller. His hand had indeed begun to hurt, the throbbing made him dizzy and extremely nauseated.

He’d broken three fingers that had to be set with minor surgery and gotten more stitches than he bothered to count, but wouldn’t have cared had they taken the entire thing off.

***

He’d walked into his apartment after spending the night in the hospital, and registered for the first time the chaos that surrounded him. He’d never know just how he managed so much destruction on his own. But it would keep, for a day at least. They’d given him pain meds and antibiotics to take with every meal, but that too would keep. All he wanted was sleep.

***

He woke the next day to the sound of Mrs. Bug busying herself in his kitchen, the smell of freshly baked bread, sausages, eggs and tea wafted into his bedroom, his stomach growled seemingly loud enough to summon Mrs. Bug at once, carrying a tray ladened with everything.

“Here ye are, _a leannan_ ,” she said, putting the tray down by his bed and helped him sit up, before placing the tray on his lap. “I’ve cut up the food for ye, seeing as how ye shouldna be using yer injured one for a while. D’ye need help wi’ the fork?”

She hovered just by his shoulder clearly ready to jump in if and when he made a mess with his food.

“Nah, Mrs. Bug, I’m a lefty,” he said twirling the fork deftly between his fingers, before neatly skewering a piece of sausage and popping it into his mouth. He smiled up at her as warmly as he could, but his hand had steadily begun aching the moment he’d woken. “I just need my medication, if you will. I left them on the wee table where I put my keys.”

She bustled out eager to help, while he made short work of his breakfast.

“I brought yer phone as weel, just in case ye need to be calling into work. Take a few days, laddie. Everyone needs time to themselves to recharge, as it were.” She said soothingly. She was right, he knew he needed a few days to himself, if only to fix the mess he’d made in the living room.

“Aye, I think I will at that.” He said dialing Murtagh’s number.

“Weel, I’ll leave ye to it, then. If ye need anything at all, just gie us a shout, aye?”

“Thank ye Mrs. Bug, truly. For everything you and Arch have done for me. For… taking care of me as ye have,” he finished quietly.

“Och,” she waved him off, touched, and gave him a motherly pat on the head, and was off.

***

After a brief explanation of the weekend’s debacle, Murtagh had assured him he wouldn’t be required at the _Printshop_ and could take as long as he needed, him and the lads could manage without Jamie for a bit. One of the perks of owning your own business, Murtagh had said, “ye can feck off any time ye like!”

When Jamie finally found the strength to leave his bedroom, he discovered that someone had covered the gaping hole he’d created with a tarp - _Arch_ , he thought with a smile, must have put it up while he slept - and swept up most of the shards of glass as best they could (they’d also discreetly left the number for a repair shop pinned to the fridge door). But Jamie wasn’t about to let someone else fix a mess of his own making - as immensely grateful as he was to the Bugs’ - this was something he felt he had to do on his own. _But not today_ , he thought, seeing the TV had somehow escaped his rampage. _Today, I binge._

***

After a couple of days vegetating on his couch - much to Mrs. Bug’s silent concern (he could hear her _tsk!_ ing behind him every time she brought him something to eat. It always made him smile) - he finally grudgingly stirred at her gentle insistence he at least shower and shave. But first, he told her, he needed to get the balcony doors dimensions, so he could begin the process of repairing the damage. She looked at him, then his bandaged-up hand dubiously. Nonetheless, she left him to it, saying she’d be not but an hour at the supermarket. She’d check on him once back.

He stood - a chilly gust of wind blew through the apartment making him gasp - having taken the tarp down and surveyed the wreckage as best he could. The broken door frame limply dangled halfway off its rails, pieces of rubble still lay outside on the balcony, the wall beside where the doors had been had long, deep gouges where he’d battered it with the piece of door frame. His sound system and speakers that had stood along the wall were irreparable. He began making a mental list of things he’d need to get from the store while one-handedly carrying a chair - gingerly grasping the tape measure between thumb and forefinger in his other - so he could get up high to start measuring.

The chair’s legs were a little uneven making him bob from side to side. He awkwardly tried grasping the tape measure in his right hand as his arms extended above his head, but that proved to be a very bad idea. He’d lost his grip on the tape and in his efforts to grab it before it fell to ground, lost his balance. He went crashing, ungainly angled, backwards with a roar of “ _A DHIA!_ ” into his coffee table - unable to break his fall for his injured hand. His last thought, in that odd way time stops for a moment before an accident, was he actually hadn’t needed to get on the chair in the first place - _it’s a roll-up tape measure, ye wanker!_

***

Claire had arrived back in Edinburgh in the early evening of the previous night, feeling tired but for the first time letting herself feel cautiously hopeful. There were still things to sort out, but she was confident - it felt _right_. Her heart fluttered at the thought of the next step she was about to make. Yet, it scared her too.

As she moved through her dark and slightly dusty apartment, she headed to her balcony doors, intending to leave them open, letting the summer chill freshen the stale air that hung in her flat. As she did so, an odd flapping noise and blue flutter caught her eye. She walked out onto her balcony and peered over at Jamie’s. _What the fuck?_

His entire balcony was a disaster. Pieces of glass, plaster and twisted metal lay strewn over the balcony floor, a blue tarp, temporary substitute for the missing sliding doors and the only protection against the elements. It seemed someone, _Jamie?_ had cleaned up most of the debris.

She couldn’t even begin to contemplate what had gone on, but hoped nobody had been hurt. A jolt ran through her at the thought that something bad may have happened to Jamie and immediately made for his front door. She tentatively knocked, but there was no answer. She hovered a moment, unsure what to do exactly, just as Arch Bug - still in his work overalls - came up the stairs, pizza box in hand.

“I see yer back, lass!” He said, jovially. Seeing her smile and slight tilt of her head towards the box - Mrs. Bug wasn’t usually one for takeout - he replied simply, “Aye weel, Murdy had a cravin’.”

“I see. Umm, I just got home and noticed a bit of a, well, Jamie’s sliding doors, you see,” she pointed vaguely behind her. “Do you know if he’s alright? I knocked, but no answer,” she finished, her voice full of concern.

“Och, aye, ye needn’t fash yersel’, the lad’s braw! Just a wee bit of bother wi’ his hand. He must ha’ taken yon pills the doctor prescribed, they knock him right out,” he said coming over to pat her arm reassuringly.

Though Claire’s immediate instinct was to check on Jamie, she saw how confident Arch was in his assessment of him, plus as a doctor herself, she knew Jamie needed his rest.

“Alright then, I suppose I’ll just check in on him tomorrow morning. You’re sure he’s ok?”

At Arch’s reassurance, she bid him goodnight and not with a little hesitance, she went back to her own flat.

***

She was unceremoniously woken the next morning with an almighty crash that emanated from Jamie’s apartment that sent her heart flying straight into her throat. She rushed to his front door, knocking furiously, turning the handle to no avail. From the alarmingly breathless _“Ifrinn!”_ she heard through the door, she knew, whatever just happened to him, he wouldn’t be able to get to the door to unlock it.

“Bugger!” She flung her fists against the unyielding door. Then a sudden thought struck her - _the balcony!_

Claire quickly made her way back, her mind racing. It was just a mere two inch gap between their balconies, but Claire wasn’t at all the most athletic of people and it was close to a thirty foot drop. “Jesus H. Roosevelt Christ!” she couldn’t help but note, peering down. She heard Jamie weakly groan once more, and her need to get to him trumped any fear she may have had of falling. And with a silent prayer, rather inelegantly vaulted over to his side.

She’d have chanced a quick glance around, taking in the melee that was his apartment, but her eyes searched only for Jamie. She rushed to him the moment she saw him lying awkwardly between couch and coffee table, his body half lay on the now broken table, his left leg oddly hooked up on the couch’s armrest, and Jamie teetering on the edge of consciousness.

Kneeling beside him, she began taking inventory of his injuries. Blood seeped through his bandaged hand, she lifted the edge of the bandage to have a look, _popped stitches_. His right shoulder was shockingly out of joint, _must have tried - and failed - to break his fall with his injured hand, the idiot,_ she thought crossly. She gingerly felt the back of his head - it wasn’t lacerated, but there was swelling. As she gently pulled open his eyelid, his eye suddenly focused on her. “Clai-?” he mumbled, much to her relief.

“Christ Jamie! And just _what_ exactly have you been doing?!”


	7. Chapter 7

##  **Part 7.**

 He wasn’t quite sure if she was actually real. She loomed above him, her hair a curly cloud about her, completely riotous; _she’d just woken up, then_. He could tell her mouth was moving, she’d been saying something, but he couldn’t make out the words. His eyes began to focus a little more; she looked quite cross actually, come to look at her. He promptly shut them.

“Honestly, I can’t tell if you’re pig-headed or just careless! Couldn’t you tell how badly you were hurt?” she heatedly asked, while she gently probed the back of his neck and spine, making him go rigid for a moment - _could she feel them?_ he wondered - but her hands didn’t hesitate or linger in their ministrations. Not waiting for an answer, she continued, “You could’ve broken your neck, you realize that, don’t you? Locked all alone in here, falling like you did! What if I hadn’t been home and heard you, huh? What then!”

“I had it well sor-”

“Don’t you dare say you had it “well sorted”! I swear-” _Was he… smiling?_ It made her heart skip a beat to see it, her breath catching in her throat. “You infuriating, bloody Scot,” she said, but all heat had left her words, as she couldn’t help but return his smile with her own.

“How’re you feeling?” she said softly, unable to stop herself from running a light finger down his scruffy cheek.

“Dizzy. And like I may throw up. My shoulder-” he tried moving it.

“Don’t do that!” she said alarmed, startling him. “Here,” bringing his leg off the couch, she wrapped her arms around his neck and back as best she could - ignoring the feel of the uneven welts beneath his tank - and very slowly and carefully, helped him sit up, back against the couch. He grunted as she did so, his left hand instinctively going to his right side where it had slammed into the table.

“You may have broken a rib or two,” she began examining his side, but stopped when his body violently tensed, his breath coming out in a hiss. He wore a simple white tank and plaid board shorts, and she could see just how rigid his muscles were beneath; he was in a lot of pain, but didn’t want to show it. He gingerly rested his head back onto the sofa cushion, his breathing becoming shallow.

“We need to get you to the hospital,” she searched around for his cellphone - having left hers in her flat - so she could call for an ambulance.

“Nay bother,” he mumbled, through clenched teeth.

She rolled her eyes, “ ‘Nay bother’ he says, looking like he’s just been hit by a bloody train…” she muttered to herself as she rummaged through his things. Finally coming out with his phone, she made the necessary calls - first for an ambulance, then to the hospital - giving as best a description of his injuries as she could and what would be needed once they arrived. All the while never taking her eyes off him. His eyes were closed.

“Jamie, stay awake,” she urged.

“Aye, I am. I’m just very tired.”

He cradled his right arm in his left, a fine film of sweat covering his entire body. Despite all his injuries, she couldn’t keep from admiring how beautifully made he was; his long graceful limbs, the elegant lines of muscle accentuated by pain. _Beauchamp, stop! It’s so not the time for that!_ but even his days-old scruff was attractive. Her fingers itched, wanting to run through it.

“I have to set that shoulder,” she observed. She moved by his side, but he seemed reluctant to relinquish his arm to her.

“I dinna think…” he couldn’t meet her eye.

“You’ll feel better, I promise. It’ll only hurt for a moment.”

Without waiting for a reply, she took his arm gently from him, twisted and turned it to get it into the right position, and swiftly popped it back into joint.

“ _A Dhia_! It doesna hurt anymore!”

“It’ll be sore for a few days. You shouldn’t move it around for a week at least. Here-” she said getting up and disappearing into his bedroom, coming back a few moments later with one of his shirts. “This’ll help take the pressure off the joint.” She wrapped the shirt about him, sling-style and much to his relief, the aching eased considerably. Despite all the pain he was in, his body shivered with pleasure at her delicate touch. He watched her through hooded eyes; she was worried, but focused.

“Did they not give you a sling when you were at the hospital for your hand?” she asked, tightening up the knot she was tying.

“No - well, yes, but I said I didna need it-” she made a sound strongly suggesting her disagreement with his assessment, but he continued barely missing a beat, ignoring the interruption, “I have one _somewhere_ around here, from when I broke my arm a few years back. I just havena bothered to dig it out yet.” After a short moment, he turned to her. “D’ye ken, this is the longest we’ve ever spoken,” he sounded drowsy, but absurdly pleased.

She sat back against the couch beside him, crossing her legs under her - it wouldn’t be long before the ambulance arrived. As worried as she’d been, the thought had crossed her mind. “And it only took you almost killing yourself,” she teased, bumping his left shoulder with her own. He laughed, it was a faint breath of a laugh, but a laugh all the same. She searched his face, his eyes were sunken with fatigue and every time he took a breath he winced slightly. She couldn’t resist reaching up and feeling the bump on the back of his head again, then brushed his sweat drenched curls back off his forehead, before letting her hand drop to her lap.

“Dinna worry yerself, Sassenach. My sister Jenny says my heid’s harder than an iron pot. I’ll do.” he smiled reassuringly, seeing her brow creased with concern.

She laughed too and sighed, some of the tension she carried easing. He quite suddenly, carefully lay his head on her shoulder. He was warm and heavy, and the gesture at once sweet and incredibly comforting. She in return rested her cheek against his head.

A moment later, they heard the paramedics thundering through the hall.


	8. Chapter 8

##  **Part 8.**

 He loved watching her in her element. She was strong and assertive. She knew exactly who she was and wasn’t afraid to speak her mind. From the moment they’d arrived at the hospital, she took charge, ordering this test and that, yet not once leaving his side but to briefly speak with a doctor or nurse - she hadn’t let go (unless she strictly had to) of his hand since she’d unconsciously taken hold of it in the ambulance. And it hadn’t mattered one lick she still wore pajamas or that her hair flew in every direction possibly.

After Jamie had gone through both a CT scan and an MRI - at Claire’s insistence - she found him a bed in a quiet corner by a window. His hand still needed proper tending (having just been quickly assessed before he’d been carted off for his scans) and the wait for a doctor had started grating on Claire’s patience and with one final click of her tongue, she went and got a tray full of everything she’d need to tend to him herself, drawing the curtain round his bed as she did so.

Claire cut away the now grimy bandage and saw for the first time the extent of his injuries, she looked up at him eyebrows raised, but he merely smiled back and she returned to her task, shaking her head. She got rid of the old (now broken) sutures, cleaned his hand gently and began sewing him back up. The bones, _Thank God_ , hadn’t rebroken.

“What happened, Jamie?” she asked quietly, not looking up.

“Nothing that matters now that you’re here, Sassenach.”

“Tell me anyway, yeah? Starting with what _‘Sassenach’_ means exactly.” she said, giving him a teasing look.

And so, haltingly, Jamie told her. Everything - but the true depth of his feelings for her, _it’s too soon for that_ , he thought, for how could he explain it without sounding completely mad? He told her how he’d agreed to go on the date. How he’d known it was a mistake. And most importantly, “Nothin’ happened between me and the lass, Claire. I swear it to ye.” He watched her, all the time he spoke, she didn’t take her eyes away from her work; she hid her face from him. She nodded though, “it isn’t my place, Jamie, what you do or don’t do… privately,” she said quietly, “but I believe you.” Looking up she saw the doubt in his eyes, and smiled, “If you say it, then I believe you. But that still doesn’t explain your hand. Or your balcony doors.”

He felt a rush of relief wash over him, only to be replaced immediately by uncertainty. How was he to tell her? He knew though that he couldn’t lie, not anymore, not after he’d _just_ given her honesty and she’d accepted it. _If you say it, then I believe you._

“Aye well, the next morning, after the lass left-”

“Wait, what? She spent the night?!” she said, incredulous.

“It didna seem right to kick her out of the apartment in the middle of a rainy night, so I left her in my bedroom. I slept on the sofa.” he explained. She started getting annoyed, not at all particularly keen on listening to the details of that night. “You _left her in your bedroom_? For someone who just a moment ago claimed nothing happened, you sure let it go far enough. Did it never occur to you to call her a taxi?”

“I was drunk, aye! I wasna thinking right all that much and I hadna thought-”

Claire could hear the tone of desperation in his voice, softening her, and gently waved away his rambling. “It’s fine. Honestly. Your hand, please.”

He looked at her dubiously, took a deep breath and continued, “As I was sayin’, the next morning I came over to apologize to ye. Only you werena there, and Mrs. Bug said you’d left…” he shrugged, ignoring the pain in his shoulder. “I dinna know what came over me. I was in a rare temper and punched the doors, then smashed whatever was in front of me,” he ended quietly.

By the look of his hand - which she’d just finished neatly bandaging - he must have ferociously hit at the doors dozens of times before breaking the glass. _Rare temper, indeed._

She wanted so badly to ask why he’d gotten so angry or why he’d felt the need to apologize in the first place, but knew deep down what the answer would be. And the knowledge of it made her heart pleasantly race. He hadn’t said, yet she was sure his feelings ran deeper than he let on.

“And what about _Sassenach_? Don’t think I didn’t notice you conveniently skipping over it,“ she jokingly chided. From the way he said it, it made her more than curious to know its meaning.

“Och, it doesna mean anything, really. Only Englishman - or _woman_. An outlander, so-to-speak,” he said rather sheepishly, ducking his head.

“An _outlander_? An outsider, you mean? Is that really how you see me?” she asked smiling, yet unsure.

Neither of them could - or would - look away.

“No,” he said. “That isna how I see ye.”

They heard footsteps headed toward them they soon found belonged to a nurse when she pulled back the curtain - tray of instruments in hand - only to find the job she’d come prepared to set up for, had already been skillfully tended to and spun on her heel in a huff. Clearly not appreciating her time being wasted.

Claire knew _they_ had time though - time enough to explore what lay unsaid between them. There was no more need for words just now.

***

As much as he loved her assertiveness, he - under no circumstances - was spending another night in the hospital. After determining his head wound wasn’t as serious as first thought - “Told ye. Iron pot,” he cheekily grinned at Claire, to which she rolled her eyes - and a couple of cracked ribs, the doctor attending him gave the all clear, though he had recommended Jamie spend the night under observation, just in case.

“You’re a doctor, are ye no? _Ye_ can tend me when we get home, aye?” Jamie said to Claire when she objected to his leaving. To his immense satisfaction, a deep red flush coloured her cheeks at his words.

“Fine, but you’ll stay with me - at my flat that is - so I can keep an eye on you and till you get your apartment gets sorted.”

He protested in the taxi all the home - he wasn’t paying a bunch of blokes to fix his mess. He could manage on his own once his hand had healed. He knew just how to fix it too, he just needed time. All this fell on deaf ears however, as soon as they got back home - and once Claire had called upon Arch Bug to help her get a wobbly Jamie up the stairs and explained what had happened earlier that morning - she found out, as Arch casually mentioned, that he’d left the number for a great repair shop on Jamie’s fridge.

After a quick pitstop to his flat to get what he’d need to stay over - Claire grabbing the repair shop number off the fridge - they began settling in, Jamie wandering slowly to her sofa - more from wanting to absorb every part of her flat than from actual fatigue. It was the first time he’d ever been in there and needed to remember every detail. The first thing he noticed - with a sharp stab - was the thin layer of dust. A reminder she’d been gone. Claire had told him she’d only just gotten back the day before. Then he began to notice other things; her work table, filled to the brim with all manner of herbs and flowers, wee bottles, pestle and mortar, an odd assortment of books and note pads and other miscellanea. Pictures all along a side table - of her with a hospital mate, all dressed in scrubs. Of Frank. Her on some holiday or other, with a jovial looking man, with a bushy white beard and glasses. Jamie wanted to know everywhere she’d been and done and with whom. He realized he’d been looking around like he was in a museum and had to consciously stop himself. _Dinna stare, ye numpty! Just sit yerself down_. Claire hadn’t noticed though. In fact, she wasn’t even in the room with him.

She reappeared a moment later with her phone in hand, just as he’d sat down; he had the sudden urge to stand back up again and she caught sight of him awkwardly hovering half seated, half standing, and let out a laugh.

“Make yourself comfortable, I’m just ordering some dinner - pizza alright?” At his nod, she continued, “need you to eat before you take the meds Dr. Beaton prescribed. Then get you to bed.”

“To bed or to sleep?” He said under his breath.

“Mmm?”

“Nothing. Umm, can I-?” He gestured to the TV and she gave him the thumbs up, having already started ordering.

***

Jamie could not believe he was in her bed. Her floral scent surrounding him in a thick indigo-ish haze, he could almost touch it. Her sheets were soft and smooth too, like clouds on a cool day, just how he imagined her skin would feel like. He turned his head and took a deep, dizzying breath. The bed suddenly shifted, like a gentle ocean wave. He turned his head slowly to find Claire sitting by him, his left hand in hers.

“Your pulse is a little elevated, but your temperature is normal. The meds kicking in, I see,” he could hear the smile in her voice and he languidly smiled back.

“Oh, _aye!_ ”

“I’ll be back to check on you in a while. Try and get some rest.” She adjusted the covers around him and made to move but he held on to her hand.

“No, stay a bit. Please.”

***

Jamie woke the next morning, his face an inch away from Claire’s. She’d fallen asleep on top of the covers, curled up like a shrimp. She still held his hand. He was afraid to breathe, lest he wake her up; she looked beyond anything he could have imagined, the morning sun just touching the curve of her cheek, her curly hair haphazardly strewn on the pillow beside him - a stray curl falling across her face. He couldn’t resist tucking it behind her ear as gently as he could with his mangled hand. Her eyes fluttered opened at his touch, and for one glorious moment, time stood still as they looked at each other. He let his hand linger in the clouds of her hair, just behind her ear. Fresh from sleep, she guarded nothing behind those sleepy, whisky eyes. And neither did he.

She stirred, flushing under the intensity of his gaze. “I better get breakfast started,” she whispered, but didn’t get up. He very lightly brushed a fingertip along her earlobe. It was the lightest of touches, but it sent a delicious shudder from the top of her head, down to the tips of her toes. Then, he let his hand reluctantly drop away.

“Aye,” he whispered back.


	9. Chapter 9

##  **Part 9.**

 

 Claire had just little over a week before she had to get back to the hospital, and wanted to spend every waking moment with Jamie. Even though he, if she was being honest, was one annoyingly stubborn patient. He’d finally agreed to call the repair shop, but only after she agreed to let him cook her dinner in thanks, once the bandages came off.

As much as he insisted he needed his rest, which basically entailed him vegetating in front of the telly all day with her, _she_ insisted they take walks whenever they could - which was often - and if _he_ was being honest, were extremely pleasant ones at that. They could talk about anything; Claire told him how she was only a few months away from completing her residency at the hospital and had already chosen general surgery as her specialty - her dream to one day open up a little practice of her own that blended both conventional medicine with that of herbal treatments. Jamie told her about his business, how he loved to read any and all things, and knowing how hard it was for unknown writers to get published, had decided on starting his own wee publishing house, that he affectionately called the _Printshop_. There didn’t seem to be much of anything that was off limits, lending a freedom when they spoke.

After a few days sleeping in her bed however, Jamie firmly declared she let him have the couch, which she counter argued wasn’t good for his ribs.

“Sassenach, I’ve kept ye from yer bed long enough. Please, the couch is fine. I’ll do.” He said for the hundredth time. In truth, after the first night watching him fall asleep, Claire’d been struck by an odd sense of closeness with him.

That night, she’d rested her head - for what she intended to only be a minute - and just listened to him breathe, found herself being inexorably pulled toward him. She gave in to the urge to touch him and stroked his cheek, to be rewarded with the most singularly sweetest smile she’d ever seen. Then followed him gladly into oblivion.

It was an intimacy she hadn’t anticipated or at all expected in that moment, the depth of it giving her pause. Claire had kept to the couch every night since.

Instead, she now found a compromise. When Jamie’s godfather, Murtagh, came to check on him - and after hasty introductions had been made, “This is Claire, _a goistidh_ ,” Jamie’d said, nervously. Then added something more in Gaelic, making his godfather’s bushy eyebrows slowly rise almost to his hairline, then he shrugged and replied gruffly in Gaelic in return - she asked if he could help her move Jamie’s mattress into her apartment (and into her bedroom; “ _So the noise from the ongoing repairs won’t interfere with his sleep in the mornings._ ”).

“I dinna see why ye hired _this_ lot, Jamie!” Murtagh gestured irritably - as he carried one end of the mattress, Claire the other - at the repairmen going about their work on Jamie’s balcony doors. “Ye know fine weel the lads and I would’ve helped ye get that sorted faster and _cheaper_ forbye,” he clucked his tongue. Claire lost track of the rest of his grumble, as she caught Jamie’s eye and the _look-what-ye’ve-started_ expression on his face. She barely managed to stifle her laughter. Seeing it, Jamie’s face broke out in a face splitting grin of his own that rather made her knees weak.

“Och, I have other things on my mind just now, _a goistidh_.” he said in Gaelic. From the glint Claire saw in his eyes, she needn’t understand the words to take his meaning.

***

“Claire?”

“Mmm.”

“Why d’ye take yer wedding ring off?”

She knew he’d noticed. How could he not. She’d taken it off the day she’d gotten back to Edinburgh, but with one thing and another, she hadn’t much thought for it.

Now, in the dark quiet of her bedroom, both on the edges of sleep, he finally asked the question he’d been burning to ask ever since seeing - as fair as her skin was - the light tan line where her ring once sat at the base of her finger.

He heard her shift then, rolling onto her stomach, the silhouette of her head appearing suddenly, hair like Medusa’s snakes, over the edge of the bed. She rested her cheek on the back of her folded hands and looked down at him where his mattress lay alongside her on the floor.

“You know why,” her voice was hushed, as if she didn’t want to disturb the night’s stillness.

“Tell me anyway, aye?” he said, just as hushed, rising and resting his head on the bed beside her.

She smiled, remembering the day she’d stitched up his hand.

“Frank and I… We’re getting a divorce.” And she told him all that happened during her brief time in Oxford. Despite her resolve to end her marriage, Jamie could hear the tone of sorrow that underlined her voice.

“It saddens ye, Sassenach.” It wasn’t a question, but she sighed and answered, “It does. I’ve known Frank a long time. To have that chapter of my life come to an end…” Her words trailed off. He gently found her fingers in the dark and interlaced them with his, giving them a reassuring squeeze.

“Aye, I understand. But you get to start a new chapter in yer life now, Claire. One that… maybe includes me?” he sounded suddenly very shy and unsure. Overcome with tenderness, she leaned toward him and gently pressed her lips to his temple, letting the touch linger for a moment.

“Yes,” she said with absolute certainty. “One that includes you.”

***

After the initial hesitance fell away between them, they spent their days and nights in a rhythm that was both comfortable as it was natural. They fitted into each spaces like they’d always belonged there. Claire found herself hoping the repairs next door took the longest amount of time possible.

The day before Claire was meant to start back at work, Jamie knew their perfect bubble was about to burst, and it filled him with a sense of sudden panic. What would happen once she started her crazy hours again and the repairs were complete? The attraction between them had deepened. They’d spent their time together building their friendship, getting to openly know each other. It wasn’t something that had been conscious, just a magnetism that drew them to one another, to want to know all there was to know. Their conversation came easy. The teasing never taken seriously, but exchanged. The looks always held, never avoided.

What was to happen when they both went back to their lives?

He decided - bandage or no - he’d make her dinner. Something special to mark what could be their last night together for a while. With Claire out running last minute errands, Jamie rushed to the store to get the things he’d need.

***

It had taken Claire longer than she anticipated to get through her never ending list of errands. After numerous back and forth phone calls over several days, the meeting with her lawyer had taken one tedious turn after another, and she was proper knackered by the time she got back home. As she opened her door, she was hit by the most incredibly enticing aroma she’d smelled in a long time. Slowly walking in, she was greeted by the sounds of Jamie’s tuneless whistling coming from the kitchen.

“And what have you been up to all day?” she said amused at the sight of him in her blue apron with pictures of herbs all over it.

“Finally, you’re home!” he exclaimed, grinning.

“Matches your bonny eyes,” she teased gesturing to the apron, but then caught sight of the red blotches on his bandage and moved toward him, concerned he’d maybe hurt himself again.

“Dinna fash! It’s no’ but sauce stains. I made lasagna!” He pointed at the oven, where indeed an amazing looking lasagna was slowly baking.

“It. Smells. _Incredible_ , Jamie!” she said, then added without thinking, “I must say, if that’s what you can accomplish relatively one-handed, can’t wait to get that bandage off your hand and see what else you can do.”

She could see the light flush rising up his neck, the tips of his ears going bright pink. Her own cheeks feeling a fraction warmer than usual.

“Aye? Well, seeing as how it’s the night before ye head back to work, I thought it’d be nice to make ye something special. To say thank ye, for all ye’ve had to put up wi’ me.” he said taking off the apron, smiling. She stood on tiptoes and gave him a kiss on the cheek, making him flush even deeper.

“It’s lovely, thank you! But you really didn’t have to go through all the trouble.”

“Och, it’s nay trouble,” he said handing her a glass of wine.

***

They sat on the sofa in a dozy haze after what turned out to be a perfect dinner. Jamie stretched his legs up onto the coffee table and rested his head back, looking sideways at Claire. She sat, legs tucked up beneath her, her head cradled in her propped up left hand, looking down at him. They sat for a long while, just watching each other.

“What did your lawyer say?” Jamie finally asked softly.

She sighed and stretched her arm then toward him, so she rested her head at eye level with Jamie’s, and lightly brushed his curls behind his ear. “He said it would be a simple matter, seeing as how we’d lived pretty much separate lives and had nothing to divide or whatnot. No joint bank accounts or property and the like. But Ned being Ned, things got… tedious. He wanted to make sure nothing was left to chance, that the break was clean and amicable as possible. I signed the papers today. He’ll send them along to Frank’s lawyer.”

He closed his eyes as she traced his eyebrow with her thumb and her fingers trailed along his temple. “How long?” he spoke so quietly she almost didn’t hear him.

“Not long. A couple of weeks, maybe.” Her fingers found and traced his bottom lip, the tickle of it sending shivers through him.

He moved, not suddenly, but deliberately, along her outstretched arm till he was an inch from her face. She didn’t shy away. He lightly touched her lips with his own. It wasn’t at all hesitant, but powerful in its extreme gentleness. _Will ye have me?_ it asked. Her other hand came up and slid to cup the nape of his neck, pulling him to her. _Yes,_ she kissed back. _Yes, I’ll have you_.

It was dreamlike, their tongues languidly jousting. It was like nothing she’d ever experienced before. Shocking in its depth, yet sensually natural. It was a very long time before they broke apart, their foreheads coming together, neither willing to give up any space between them, her left hand having bent and buried itself deep in his auburn hair, holding him in place. She couldn’t have said how her leg had somehow draped itself across his lap, but she wasn’t about to pull it back while his fingers drew delicate patterns along her thigh and hip.

Jamie wanted nothing more than to have her then and there, and could sense she felt the same. “Claire. God, I want ye so,” he breathed, and felt her nod in response. “But, I canna have ye, while you’re still bound to another. I need ye mine and mine alone, before we…” he felt the breath of her laugh against his lips.

“Jamie, I don’t think I can wait that long. I really don’t,” she didn’t hide the longing in her voice. “I haven’t been his for a very long time.” She ran the palm of her hand from his nape down his chest, across his ribs and brought it to rest on the small of his back.

“I ken that, Sassenach. I just want us free of everyone and everything. To just be you and me.” he said almost pleading, cupping her cheek.

She understood. She knew she felt the same as he did, but having him so close, feeling his body come alive under her touch. It took all of her willpower to just kiss him in agreement.

They’d wait.

***

That night Jamie slept in Claire’s bed, her face burrowed into the side of his neck, his arms securely locked about her delicate body.

“Jamie?” she said so softly, he felt the vibration of her voice, rather than heard her words.

“Aye?” he replied.

Her hand slowly slipped beneath his shirt, running her fingers lightly against the jagged scars that spanned the expanse of his back. His body tensed, but only for a split second, then relaxed under her roaming touch. She’d felt them before and seen glimpses of them since (whenever he wore his tanks); Jamie never hid them from her nor seemed at all self-conscious around her, yet had always donned something that covered the whole of his back around others, save Murtagh. And Claire had never asked. But now, in the dark sanctuary of her bed, she finally had.

He was quiet for a bit, then haltingly began to tell her. “A few years back, when I was moving to Edinburgh. It had been raining hard. I was thrown from the car my father and I were travelling in when it flipped over, breaking my arm. Then slid along the asphalt, scraping the skin off my back. It… was not a pretty sight. I woke up days later and wished I hadn’t. My father, he…” He spoke ruefully, she heard the deep sadness underlining his voice. He tried clearing his throat, but could say no more. She lay the flat of her palm in the centre of his back, her forehead in the hollow of his chest, and just simply held him to her till she felt his body yield, going limp with sleep. Then held him till she too slept.


	10. Chapter 10

##  **Part 10.**

 

 Claire had always loved the night shift. There was something magical about walking the halls in the dead of night, being there to comfort those who found neither solace nor peace in darkness. But now she fully understood why so many of her colleagues scrambled to switch their shifts around. Why they fought tooth and nail to get the day shifts. Now that she had Jamie.

“Joe, please. Just switch a couple of nights with me. You know I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t important.” Claire pleaded. She knew of all her colleagues, Joe Abernathy was the only one she had a shot convincing. He was her only real friend among all the residents - or in Scotland for that matter. And had been supportive and understanding ever since she told him she was splitting from Frank - and why.

“LJ,” he said in that distinct Boston lilt of his. “In all the time I’ve been here, you’ve basically been this hospital’s Florence Nightingale. Why the sudden change? Finally found yersel’ the courage to ask yer wee laddie fer a nigh’ oot, d’ye noo?” He tried and failed to put on a Scottish accent - which he knew he was absolute rubbish at, but that never stopped him having a go. She could see he was just messing with her - it was one of the things she loved about him, his dumbass sense of humor.

“Joe, come on! Will you switch with me or not?” she put her palms together and mouthed _‘pleasepleaseplease’_.

Feigning exasperation, he replied, “Fine. Here’s what we’re gonna do. Barring any major emergencies or juicy surgeries, I’ll take your Wednesday and Thursday night shifts from next week, then we’ll just go from there. Would that work?” She almost knocked him over as she hugged him. She knew it was still going to be tough finding time to spend with Jamie, but any time was better than none.

***

Jamie sat at the foot of Claire’s bed watching her get ready for work, he knew it was inevitable, but that didn’t make him like it. His apartment was nearly done, “A day or two, yet,” the contractor had said, making him want to wring the man’s neck for his efficiency. Plus Murtagh had called, they’d been some problems at the _Printshop_ he had to attend to soon. All these things, seemingly pulling him further away from her.

“It’ll be fine,” she’s said, seeing the look on his face and came to sit beside him. “We’ll find a way. I’ll rearrange a few things at the hospital. We’ll make it work.” She took his face in her hands and kissed him. “Besides,” she added, teasing, “distance may do us some good. I can’t keep my hands from you, Jamie Fraser, and if you really want to wait…” She sighed, kissing his temple and made to get up, but he grabbed her hand and pulled her onto his lap. He swallowed her moan as he kissed her more deeply. “If ye think for one second that _I_ can keep my hands from ye any more than ye, Claire Randall- _soon-to-be-Beauchamp_ , ye are dead-” he nipped at her lower lip, ”-bloody-” then her neck, “-wrong.”

***

“It isna so much that we canna do without ye, lad, it’s only as ye have the most patience of us all - hot-heided as ye are -” his godfather was saying, “- to deal with some of these people!” Jamie sat going over the papers Murtagh’d shoved in front of him, and set about setting meetings up with those “irrational writer-types” Murtagh and all hadn’t the energy to deal with.

As Jamie headed for the door an hour and a half later, taking leave of his godfather with the promise of grabbing beers soon and having a much needed chat, Rupert caught up with him, breathless and by the look on his face, Jamie knew whatever Rupert wanted to talk to him about, it wasn’t going to be pleasant.

“Why haven’t ye called her back?” Rupert asked, without preamble.

“Laoghaire? Aye, I’ve been meaning to, but I’ve other things on my mind just now,” Jamie replied. He hadn’t thought of the lass since telling Claire about her at the hospital.

“She came by here the other day, looking for ye, said she tried calling, only ye never picked up. I told her you’d been hurt.” Rupert said, looking annoyed.

Jamie shrugged, what could he say, he knew he didn’t want to see the lass again - let alone talk to her - but knew he couldn’t have Rupert do what _he_ needed to do either. “Dinna look at me like that, I’ll talk to her,” he said a little rougher than he intended, but Rupert was giving him a harder look than necessary. _What had the wee besom told him?_ he wondered.

***

As it was, a few days past and Jamie still hadn’t spoken to Laoghaire. In truth, he found it hard to think of anything other than Claire and the necessities of his day.

The repairs to his apartment had been finished, but Jamie had taken to sleeping at Claire’s. The first night he’d spent in her apartment, she’d given him a key (he’d given her his the next day) so he could come and go as and when he liked - and now he loathed to be parted from her. He found himself restless and uncomfortable in his own bed and - if he couldn’t have her in his arms - only the scent of her around him could relax him enough to sleep.

Claire too loved coming home in the wee hours of the morning to find him in her bed (and when he wasn’t, she knew it was because he _couldn’t_ ), curls tousled about from sleep, the bed invitingly warm. There was no better feeling than curling up against him after a tough day, inhaling his sleepy scent and falling gratefully to sleep with his arms securely about her.

***

They’d just finished dinner on one of the few nights Claire had freed up. She’d been going on all night about his singing, how she could never decipher what song he’d be belting out, and needed to further investigate his tone-deafness.

“Seriously, we _have_ to go for karaoke one of these nights,” she said, lightly teasing, as she did the last couple of dishes they’d used. “Please, Jamie, It’ll be like an experiment! See if th- _EEEKKK_!” He’d heard enough, and took a piece of melting ice from his whisky glass, stood up, walked up behind her and slipped the piece of ice down the back of her neck and shirt. She squealed and hit him.

“OW! Ye dinna know your own strength, woman!” he said, feigning indignation and rubbing his arm. She was shivering, yet seeing the affronted look on his face, couldn’t help but laugh. “Serve you right, you idiot,” she replied as she lifted his shirt sleeve a little and kissed the offended bicep. He put his hands on either side of her against the counter and leaned into her, his hips - and lips - meeting hers. They were interrupted suddenly by an increasingly insistent knocking - not on Claire’s door, but Jamie’s. Then his cellphone rang.

 _“Jamie! I know yer home. I hear yer phone!”_ came Laoghaire’s high-pitched voice from the hallway.

Claire’s eyebrows shot up, a shocked grin spread across her face. “Is that…?” she whispered.

Jamie groaned, his forehead falling onto her shoulder. “Uh-huh.” he replied, then said something very rude in Gaelic.

“Well then, you better go out there and sort out your drunken misadventure-”

_“James!”_

“-before she smashes your door to bits.”

With a silent oath, he stepped out into the hallway like a man headed for the gallows and shut the door behind him.

 _“Good evening to ye, Laoghaire,”_ he said politely.

 _“‘Good evening’? I’ve been callin’ ye and callin’. Where have ye been? I heard ye’d been hurt, why didn’t ye call?”_ She sounded quite angry rather than concerned to Claire.

 _“Aye, weel, it’s been… things have been - I didna know how to -that is…”_ Claire could hear how uncomfortable he sounded and wanted nothing more than to go out there and take his hand in hers, but knew it was something he had to deal with on his own.

 _“That night was mistake,”_ he finally said firmly, his voice clear and precise. _“It wasna right for me to agree to it in the first place, let alone let it get as far as it did and I’m truly sorry for it - for all of it.”_

Claire heard Laoghaire snort unpleasantly. _“It wasna right, was it? That didna seem to slow you down any, did it?”_

_“It’s -it wasna- it’s complicated. I wasna thinking right. And the drink didna help!”_

_“‘Complicated’ is it?”_ she shrieked. _“So yer the kind of man to just use a woman-”_

 _“I didn’t use ye!”_ his voice was steadily rising.

 _“No? What d’ye call kissing me the way ye did, or being naked and roused in bed wi’ a lass ye just met, then?”_ she countered, bitterly cold.

 _“It wasna_ you _I burned for. It wasna_ you _I wanted to bed, aye,”_ he said, equally as cold and with a simple finality. _“And I didna bed ye at all, as ye may recall.”_

Claire heard what sounded like the crack of thunder as palm met cheek, in a slap that echoed through the hall and stairwell, making her wince. _“Yer a coward and an arsehole, Jamie Fraser. May ye and yers fecking rot!”_ Laoghaire hissed, with the sound of her receding footsteps down the stairs soon following.

Jamie quietly walked back into Claire’s flat and straight into her arms, eager for the only comfort he wanted - that only she could give him. Claire gently kissed his reddening cheek and held him tight to her. After a while, she brushed his hair behind his ear.

“So,” she whispered seriously in his ear. “About the karaoke.”

His half-choked laugh tickled her neck.


	11. Chapter 11

##  **Part 11.**

 

A couple of weeks past, Claire and Jamie found themselves falling into a routine of their own. Finding Jamie in her bed - in his customary white tank and plaid board shorts - Claire would fall asleep in his arms, at least for a couple of hours before he woke for work. Jamie would have lunch with Claire (and sometimes work from home in the afternoons, if he could) before she headed for the hospital - taking his former morning jogs in the early evenings.

When Claire’s nights were free, they’d plan small nights out, or stay home and binge-watch shows they knew the other hadn’t seen before - the latter proving tricky with Jamie’s ‘we wait’ policy. It was one thing going out for dinner or a movie, it was a whole other challenge sitting next to him, feeling the heat radiating from his skin after a run or shower, the twist and flex of muscle of his body against hers as he settled them more comfortably on the sofa. She knew it was taking a toll on him too - there wasn’t much he could hide while wearing those bloody board shorts of his - after fervent (and quite handsy) makeout sessions, that always resulted in him retreating back into his flat.

In fact they’d come close on a few occasions, but Jamie being the stubborn Scot that he was, had somehow always managed to stop it just before…

She’d persistently called Ned everyday, asking for an update, but from Frank’s end they’d heard nothing. According to Ned, there was nothing left but for him to sign the papers. For whatever reason though, Frank Randall was yet to make things official. This set both her and Jamie on edge.

Seeing her agitation, Jamie knew he’d do just about anything to get her mind - and _his_ \- off Randall. And so, after she’d had yet another fruitless conversation with her lawyer, he had no choice. He set his jaw and said, “Tonight, you and me. And karaoke.”

***

> _“We are young. Heartache to heartache, we staaaand! No promises, no demands! Love is a battlefield… Whoooo-oh-oh-oh-oh-oh…”_

She was phenomenal. Of course Jamie already knew that, but seeing her, completely carefree, curls exploding about her as she belted out one tune after another, he realized it was indeed possible to fall more in love with her each day. He’d heard her sing at home, but never like this.

> _“We are strong! No one can tell us we’re wrooong! Searching our hearts for so looong! Both of us knowing LOVE is a BATTLEFIELD!!!”_

Her voice was beautifully powerful and delicate all at the same time. The crowd too, loved her - _how could they not_ , he thought - and gave her rousing rounds of applause whenever she’d finish a song.

She came back to their table flushed with excitement - and not a little buzzed - he raised his hand which she obligingly high-fived heartily, as she sat down. “You were incredible,” he said every time she’d done a song, and leaned over to kiss her.

“You always say that!”

“Because it’s the God’s honest truth.”

“Your turn?” she asked, hopeful.

“Not nearly drunk enough yet.” was his standard reply. To which she ordered another round of drinks. Jamie had agreed to go, but hadn’t yet got up the courage to try his hand at a song, he’d been reluctant, she knew, but he’d promised her at least one song.

Finally, after a little more encouragement - and a lot more drink - he got up a little unsteadily and said, “For you, my Sassenach, I’ll do anything. Even make an utter arse of mysel’,” kissing her hand formally, he determinedly headed toward the little stage, beer in hand.

Claire watched as he picked his song, then stood waiting for the music to start up - he solemnly blinked at her and she winked back. The music began and it wasn’t at all what she was expecting. _Is that…? Is he doing._.. Sure enough,

> _“Just a small town girl, livin’ in a lonely world. She took the midnight train goin’ A-NY-WHERE!”_

His voice was terrible. The song fluctuated high, then higher still, then low and deep. There was no melody or rhythm. His voice cracked and rumbled, leaving the audience cringing in feigned agony.

> _“It goes on and on, and on, AND OOON! Strangers waiting, up and down buuulevaAAard! Their shadows searching in the niiight. Streetlight people, livin’ just to find emotion, hidin’ somewhere in the NIIiiiIIGHT!”_

She realized his eyes were closed as he “sang”, mic held up against his chest, he knew all the words without having to look at the monitor and was leaning back, feeling the music, playing his air guitar, as if he stood alone in the world.

> _“DON’T. STOP. BEEELiEVIN’!!! HOLD ON TO THAT FEEEeeLINnNN’!!!!!”_

And as he croaked his way to the end, Claire knew beyond anything, it was the most beautiful thing she’d ever heard.

***

Claire was still humming it as the arrived back home, Jamie steadied her hand so she could get the key into the door. “You can’t sing for shite, love, but you were just _incredible_ tonight!” she said, completely sincere, her blood still fizzing with energy. He laughed.

“Worth every minute to see ye had fun!”

He turned her round then and held her against the door, wedging his thigh between hers and kissed her for what seemed an age and at once, no time at all.

“Let’s get inside, shall we?” Claire said as her hips swayed against his, her lips pleasantly tingling - like they always did - from the rasp of his scruff.

“Mmm, I want to, _mo nighean donn_. Badly. Perhaps its best I go to mine tonight,” he sounded thoroughly unwilling. Jamie felt her grip on his arms tighten automatically.

“Jamie, this is ridiculous! We’re both going to explode if we keep this up,” she said, shaking him gently.

“Aye, I know! Soon, Claire, I promise ye. If I have to go down to Oxford and get that wee bugger to sign those bloody papers myself.”

Before his resolve could waver, he gave her one last kiss, opened her door and closed it behind her. And made for his apartment.

Claire felt dazed, the night’s adrenaline still pumping through her. She stood a moment by her kitchen table, listening. Hearing Jamie’s door open and shut, she smiled to herself and said a trifle louder than necessary, “Good night!”

After a pause, Jamie’s clear voice came through the wall, _“Good night!”_

***

Claire came home the next night, tired from her day shift, but looking forward to curling up next to Jamie. When she entered her apartment however, it was dark and empty but for a chicken stew she’d immediately smelled when she walked in, waiting in her oven.

Her balcony doors were open and she could see light spilling out from Jamie’s flat. She knew he’d opened them. Claire moved quietly toward them and saw Jamie leaning against his railing, looking out into the night. He looked faraway.

“There you are,” she said in greeting, stepping out onto her own balcony.

“ _Feasgar math, mo nighean donn_ ,” he said, his eyes focusing, coming back to her, face splitting into a dazzling smile that made her heart give a sharp, pleasant jolt.

“What’s the matter, Jamie?” She asked, even though she already knew the answer. He’d greeted her in Gaelic - a sign he’d been deep within himself. It hadn’t been the first time they’d stood, separated, on their balconies. When the wanting got too much, reaching an inevitable peak (it always did), Jamie would keep to his flat, and so would she. There were nights they’d spent countless hours just talking about everything and anything, in the solitude of their own divides.

He stood mere inches from her, but didn’t move to take her hand that rested on his rail. Instead he shoved his balled-up fists in his pockets.

“I’ve been thinking about ye. I _always_ think about ye,” he said with a rueful laugh, moving to face her. “All last night - and _today_ \- I thought about your body against me, your breath on my neck, you fingers digging into my back… I willna be able to keep my hands from ye,” He finished quietly.

 _‘Then don’t,’_ Claire wanted so badly to say, but instead replied, “I understand,” taking hold of his shirt and pulling him closer. The only thing separating them was the railings. He came without much reluctance. “Can I at least get a good night kiss?”

Jamie moaned helplessly as she gently pulled him down the last bit of space between them to her, till her lips met his. She wanted to be slow, to make it last, but knew it would be torture for him - and her. Instead, she peppered his lips with butterfly-light kisses, then cupped his face between her hands and pulled him down a little more, kissing his forehead.

“I’ll see you tomorrow?” she asked hopefully. At his nod, her hands slid down to his chest and shoved him playfully. “Tomorrow, then.”

Jamie watched her disappear back into her flat, his blood buzzing. He stayed outside longer than he intended, letting the fresh, chilly air cool him down.

_Damn ye, ye bloody Englishman._

***

Jamie didn’t, however, have to go down to Oxford himself after all. A couple of days later, he got home late - having missed lunch with Claire for the meetings he had all day - to find Mrs. Bug hovering about her door, thick brown envelope in hand.

“Och finally, laddie!” she exclaimed when she saw him. “A Mister Ned Gowan came by, said he had a package for Claire, that she’d given instruction should anything urgent arise or papers to be delivered - and should she not be home - the papers be left wi’ you or me. He said he knew how important this was for her, that he felt only right bringing them himsel’, wished he could have given them to her directly, had even gone to the hospital, but she’d been in surgery or somesuch.” She handed him the package, and a jolt went right through him. He grabbed the old lady in a bear hug that lifted her straight off her feet.

***

Claire came home that morning and found Jamie exactly where she knew he’d be. He woke as soon as she’d come in, but didn’t move or put on the light, only watched her dark silhouette as she stripped off her clothes - her back turned to him (his breath catching in his throat as it always did when she took off her bra), and put on one of his oversized shirts, then slid into bed as he lifted the covers for her.

He’d texted her soon as Mrs. Bug gave him the bulging envelope, asking if he could open it. Frank had finally signed the papers. Ned hadn’t given an explanation for the delay, only that there was a letter addressed to Claire among the divorce papers; she saw a number of envelopes and documents strewn on the kitchen table, but didn’t bother looking. She didn’t care, he’d signed them was all that mattered now.

“Free up your weekend, Sassenach. We’re going away,” he whispered into her hair when she’d finally nestled up against him.

“Already have.”


	12. Chapter 12

##  **Part 12.**

  


 The drive to Loch Lomond in Murtagh’s beaten up old pickup was supposed to take a little over an hour, but between the rickety pickup and Jamie’s constant remonstrations and his overly cautious driving, it felt much longer.

“How have ye never been?!” he asked for the umpteenth time. He couldn’t quite understand how Claire, having lived in Scotland for close to seven years now, had never once visited Loch Lomond. “Ye live on 1744 _LOMOND_ Drive! Have ye never been curious about the place it’s named for?”

“I haven’t been much of anywhere, really. It’s just never been something I’ve had the time to do, honestly. Being so busy at school and work, it just never came up.” she said, amused by his earnest indignation.

“‘It just never came up,’ she says. Well its beautiful, ye wee savage!” He teased.

All Claire cared about was getting to their room at the bed and breakfast Jamie had booked. She knew though, how important a weekend it was for the both of them and she was more than happy to let Jamie engineer the trip - and all they were to do on it. Provided of course, it didn’t require them to actually _leave_ their room all that much.

“I can’t wait to see this magnificence of yours. Does the loch have a ‘wee beastie’ in it?” she asked mimicking his accent, making him laugh.

“That was terrible! Is tha’ what ye think I sound like? And no, no beasties, but it does have a song,” he said enthusiastically.

Never one to turn down an opportunity to hear him sing, Claire tucked her legs up in her seat, turned to him and waited expectantly. Giving her what she could only describe as a thoroughly exasperated side-eye, he began reciting rather than singing what turned out to be a rather sorrowful verse.

> _O ye’ll tak’ the high road, and I’ll tak’ the low road,_
> 
> _And I’ll be in Scotland afore ye,_
> 
> _But me and my true love will never meet again,_
> 
> _On the bonnie, bonnie banks o’ Loch Lomond._

“Some say it’s about the failed Jacobite rebellion in ‘45. Others say the _low road_ ’s to do wi’ faeries and little people who transported the souls of Scotsman who died in foreign lands…” Claire wasn’t much of a history buff, but had soon found that Jamie quite loved history. All-things-Scotland, to be exact - and he was a master story teller. They spent nights in the cool darkness, exchanging small touches as best they could without crossing the line to _more_ , with his voice in her ear whispering about ghouls and old people, of witches and standing stones. She loved his folklore tales - of which Scotland had a rich history.

“ _Oooh_! Tell me more about the faeries and all. You know I love a good faerie story.”

***

_He was right_ , she thought, _it was incredibly beautiful_. It was like stepping back in time. The cozy little cottage suite Jamie had booked sat right by the waterfront, a complimentary tray of whisky stood waiting in the tiny, rustic room and a fire already lit, crackled gently. They could have been the only two left in the world.

They shucked off their shoes, settling in, and as Jamie went to put their bags down by the bed, Claire stood by the open doors that led out onto a small terrace overlooking the loch, the air crisp and fresh, watching as storm clouds rolled in over the mountains on the far side, the afternoon light catching her like a halo. Jamie came up behind her, slipping his arms round her waist. She’d taken the bulky bandage off his hand, but kept the broken fingers splintered, the stitches lightly bound - it still made things clumsy and awkward, yet she never once made him feel so.

“D’ye like it?” He asked.

“Like? I _love_ it! You were right, it’s perfect,” Claire said, leaning back into him.

He pulled the shawl she wore aside and kissed her shoulder, pleased. “There’s lots to do. Hikin-”

“I don’t want to hike.”

“Well, we can-”

Claire turned around and kissed him, letting her shawl fall to the floor, her hands peeling off his jacket and watched as it joined her shawl at their feet. She ran her hands along his now bare arms and felt his body ripple at her touch. He burned just as much as she did, and the thought made her suddenly nervous, a constant tremor running through her body. She’d thought about having him a million different ways, yet in the moment, the need to have him in a frenzied daze, disappeared entirely.

Jamie could feel her tremor - from fear or an unaccustomed shyness, he wasn’t sure. He’d quickly become attuned to her body sharing her bed, and as much as he wanted to fling her bodily onto the inviting covers behind him and having her hard and quick after so long imagining - he knew for her (and him) now, in the quiet of Loch Lomond, he’d have to go slow.

“What are you thinking, Jamie?” she asked nervously, wrapping her arms about his neck.

“That I’ve never been more scared in my life,” his breath was ragged and voice husky. “That I want nothing more than to take yer dress off ye and taste every inch of ye…”

Jamie’s lips found hers then, and he kissed her long and deep, slowly walking back toward the bed, his hands light on her hips, he gently pulled her with him; she moved forward readily. When his legs eventually hit the foot of the bed, Jamie couldn’t stop his fingers from slipping beneath the straps of her dress and deftly skimming them off her shoulders. The thin dress wafted to the floor seemingly in slow motion. _Time had surely slowed down_ Jamie thought, as he looked properly upon her naked form for the first time. She stood bare from the waist up; he couldn’t resist running his hands lightly up along her ribs and back, feeling her skin erupt with goosebumps in the wake of his touch. He sat down on the edge of the bed and she came to stand between his knees.

“God,” he breathed against the skin between her breasts. His hands went up and down the length of her body, he could feel her breath come in short gasps as his lips brushed across her soft skin. His lips found her nipple which stiffened promptly in response to his attentions. He took his time - taking it between his teeth, flicking his tongue, before taking her fully into his mouth - savouring the feel and ripple of her body, giving both breasts equal and thorough tending. She moaned and shuddered under his touch, her legs suddenly giving way. He grabbed her by the waist, lifting her so she straddled him.

Claire’s hands burrowed into his hair and grabbing a handful, she jerked his head back so his lips met hers, tongues meeting in fiery combat. She began to unconsciously rock her hips and could feel him firm beneath her, his hips slowly keeping in rhythm with hers. Her hands left his hair, ran down his back and rucked up his shirt over his head. She pulled back slightly so she could look at him. Her hand moved as if of its own volition, tracing the flare of his collarbone, the hollow of his chest - where the coarse hairs pleasantly rasped against her fingertips. She ran the back of her fingers down the flat slope of his stomach. Then lower. She drew her nail all along just where the waist of his jeans met his skin. _Damn_ … “Stand up.”

Obligingly, he stood. Claire unbuttoned his jeans - her fingers trembling almost uncontrollably - her hands finding their way behind and beneath his boxers, sliding both jeans and boxers to the floor - Jamie’s own thumbs hooking themselves in the waistband of her last remaining piece of clothing, which swiftly joined his discarded clothes.

Finally leaning back against the pillows, their bodies meeting flesh to flesh all along their lengths, began molding to each other, both taut as the strings of a bow, quivering with a wanting so powerful it took their breath away. With no boundaries whatever between them now, their hands explored freely. His deft fingers finding her slick centre, her legs parting to better accommodate his touch. She pressed herself against his hand, seeking friction. Their breathless kisses stealing what ounce of control they had left. Her hand found its way down, her thumb languidly kneading him, till she felt his thigh muscles twitching with the effort not to lose control entirely.

“I need ye, Claire. God, I need ye so,” Jamie gasped against her lips, fingers lightly flicking. She rolled on to her back then, inexorably drawing him with her in answer. Jamie braced his elbows on either side of her, as Claire’s hand slowly made its way down the large, welted sweep of his back, gently taking hold of one firm buttock, and steered him home. All sense of being, emotion, feeling, were erased in an instant, as both were lost to an oblivion of pure sensation.

***

Having left the terrace doors open, they lay entwined under the heavy covers, still joined, hips gently rolling in a dreamy rhythm, watching the rain batter the loch’s surface in the dull half-light of early evening, the smell of rain mingling with their own musk and floral scents that filled their senses with a euphoric headiness.

They simply could not stop touching each other. Their hands and lips leisurely roamed, committing to memory every nook and hollow, the smooth expanse of skin and calloused knuckle. Jamie buried his nose in her hair, inhaling deep and long, his hand coming to cup her breast, as Claire wrapped her leg over his hip. He sensed an odd kind of tension in her body though, that he couldn’t quite explain.

“What are ye thinking, Sassenach?” He asked, drowsily. She was quiet for a while, her breathing calm. Then she sighed.

“Being here with you,” she began slowly, “alone, as if the world itself has fallen away. Feeling your heart beat against me, steady and strong. I’ve never felt more at peace than I do right now. You’re my life now, Jamie Fraser… and I’m scared to bloody death of losing you.” Her voice was barely above a whisper.

He raised himself so he could look her in the eye, his hand cupping the nape of her neck. “Ye willna lose me,” he said softly. “Not ever, Claire.” He sealed his promise with a lingering kiss, and felt the tension she carried seep from her completely.

He shifted them both, careful not to break their connection, so he could rest his head upon her shoulder, nestling his forehead into the curve of her neck. She gently stroked back the damp curls from his forehead and he turned slightly, pressing his lips into her palm.

They were quiet for a long while, each absorbed in melting into the other. She would have been freezing, she observed, had it not been for his inexplicable warmth pulsing through her. She slid her arms round his shoulders and tightened her hold. “Mmmm,” he hummed, tightening his hold about her waist in return.

“Marry me, Claire.” he said.

She tilted his head up to her then, looking him in the eye, a smile in hers. “Absolutely,” she replied, and sealed her promise with a kiss of her own.


	13. Chapter 13

##  **Part 13.**

 

As it was, Claire and Jamie didn’t find cause to leave their room all weekend, taking their meals in their suite, not bothering to get dressed at all.

“I canna wait for ye to meet my family.” Jamie said as he stepped out of the shower, loosely fastening a towel round his waist. Claire stood in front of the bathroom mirror, drying her hair, naked. “My sister Jenny still lives on our family estate - Lallybroch it’s called - with her husband Ian and the bairns,” he said leaning back against the counter beside her.

“Is that the one who kept threatening to put your bollocks in a vice?” She smiled, grabbing a robe for herself, remembering a memorable uproar she once heard, that generated so much cuss-filled shouting from his apartment, she was sure someone was going to call the police.

“The very same!” he said cheerily, making her laugh.

“She sounds perfectly formidable.” she said, shaking her head.

Jamie watched intently as she went about her morning routine, her curly mass damp about her shoulders, skin faintly pink from the hot water. He could feel himself stir beneath his towel. His fingers ached with wanting to touch her.

“Sassenach.”

“Mmm?” she said, absently.

“Ye missed a spot,” he said, “ _just there_.” He tugged on her robe, exposing her shoulder and very slowly nipped his way up her neck.

“You mean, _you_ missed a spot,” she closed her eyes and tipped her head back giving him more room to work with. She watched him through hooded eyelids, seeing the glint in his eye as he looked back up at her, his breath burned on her sensitive skin, making her chest tighten. Her hand drifted down, finger unfastening his towel, which promptly dropped to the floor. Her gaze couldn’t help but wander. Her robe soon followed his towel.

“We still have time before we leave,” Jamie said, voice urgent.

“I dare say,” Claire replied, letting out a whoop of surprise as he picked her up bodily and strode single-mindedly back into the shower.

***

Claire’s schedule however, took a turn for the worse after they got back from their getaway. What with one thing and another, Claire found herself unavoidably working double shifts, living more often at the hospital than at home. And when she was home, all she had strength pretty much for was sleeping. That is, unless Jamie was home too (which he almost always was) in which case she had strength for a few other things as well.

Jamie had taken to visiting her at the hospital when he could, making quick, yet highly thorough work of empty on-call rooms as best they could - almost getting caught once or twice by the deputy head of the Psych department, Geillis Duncan, who seemed to have an irritatingly acute sexual radar. But he missed Claire terribly, as he knew she did him. It was small, quiet moments they missed most; sitting on the sofa, yelling at the TV, taking long walks together like they did when she’d been on leave, just talking about anything and nothing. Or simply listening to each other breathing in the dark, timeless hours of sleep.

It hadn’t been a conscious decision for Jamie to move in, and now that they were engaged, it just seemed natural, like he’d always meant to be. Claire hadn’t realized just how much she loved his presence there, till she’d seen a neat pile of folded clothes of his quietly sitting on a small corner table in her bedroom, and had taken them without thinking, tidily putting them away in her cupboard. When she finally found him setting up his new surround sound system in her flat, because apparently her TV had rather shite audio, they made it official; Murtagh and the lads helping him properly move in one noisy Sunday afternoon while she was at work.

***

It wasn’t until three months later that they finally found an opening to visit Lallybroch; they were to arrive on the eve of Samhain and spend the weekend there. Jamie informed Claire that while they did dress up for Samhain, the celebrations were largely outdoors (weather permitting) and could get quite traditional. “So what are you dressing up as?” she asked, curious. She had her outfit already packed, but he was being irritatingly evasive about his costume. He’d just give her an infuriating _wait-and-see_ shrug.

***

Samhain preparations were well and truly under way by the time Claire and Jamie drove up to his family’s estate; there was an undeniable buzz of excitement running through the walls of the place. “Janet! We’re here!” Jamie bellowed from the hallway. Claire could hear that unmistakably commanding voice as they’d walked in, and was expecting to see the female copy of Jamie. Instead, when Jenny finally rounded the corner, Claire had been taken aback by how physically opposite they were. Where Jamie was tall, broad and fiery haired, Jenny was small and dark haired, yet somehow no less impressive in presence.

Jenny beamed up at her brother when she saw him, giving him a hearty hug. Then turned to Claire.

“And ye must be Claire. Jamie’s spoken far too much about ye. Was half expecting an honest t’ God faerie from the way he talks of ye.” There was a look in Jenny’s eye that Claire could only read as a wary skepticism. Claire knew Jamie had told Jenny about them and their engagement, but by the look he exchanged with his sister, she just didn’t realize just how much. _Or for how long._

“Aye, well. Make yerself useful, _ruadh_ , Ian’s in the barn. I’ll show Claire to yer room.” And before either of them could say so much as an “alright”, Jenny had grabbed Jamie’s things and headed for the stairs, leaving Claire biting her lip, stifling a smile. She raised her eyebrows at Jamie who smiled back, leaving with her with a quick kiss on the forehead.

***

“D’ye love him, then?” Jenny had been waiting in the room at the end of the hall, hands braced on her hips.

“Very much.” Claire replied simply, putting her bags down.

Jenny watched her a moment. “Aye. I ken he’s very taken wi’ ye. And from what he said - actually no - not _what_ he said, more _how_ he said it, really. It’s clearly different than anything the lad’s ever experienced before. Tha’ much I can tell. But what of ye?” She was frank and to the point was Jenny. Claire appreciated his older sister’s protectiveness. Having no siblings - or any real family of her own, after her parents and later her uncle past - she was grateful _he_ had people who watched out for him. That however, didn’t stop her stomach from turning with nerves.

“I understand you’re only looking out for him, Jenny, but I assure you, my feelings for your brother run _far_ deeper than I’ll ever have words to express them. What we have… Whatever it is… It isn’t usual. It’s _different_.” As she spoke she saw the look on Jenny’s face soften, sensing the sincerity of her words.

“Aye, I can see that plain enough. He isna one for grand, impractical gestures, so for him to bring ye here I ken he’s ready… All I can say is, welcome to the family, Claire. And God help ye for it!” She added good naturedly, giving Claire a warm hug.

***

As Jamie helped Ian with the horses, he told him everything. He didn’t realize how much he’d missed this life. Lallybroch was a farm, and a thriving one at that, and Jamie had almost forgotten the joys of getting elbow deep in the muck and grime of farm life. It was always something Jamie dearly cherished whenever he came home after he’d chosen to move to Edinburgh and open his own little publishing house, much to his father’s apprehension. But he’d given Jamie his blessing all the same.

“I canna even describe what it is, Ian, or how powerfully she stirs me.” Jamie said, as he paused to take a swig of water. “I can’t help but wish though, that Mam and Da were here too. To meet her.” He glanced in the direction he knew the old kirk yard stood, up beyond a dilapidated old cottage, where they’d been buried.

“They are, Jamie. Everyday they’re w’ ye. Wi’ us all. And I believe ye. I’ve known ye since we were wee bairns, I see it in ye.” Ian said, jovially clapping him on the shoulder. “I look forward to meeting her. I just hope Jenny’s not being too hard on her.”

“Och! I’m not worried. Claire can handle hersel’ well enough!”

***

The house was quiet as Claire and Jamie nestled in bed together later that night, a cozy fire the only source of light, warmly crackled. After everyone’s nerves had settled, they’d had an incredibly pleasant time together, dinner passing in the midst of a lot of laughter - Jenny and Ian telling Claire any and all stories of Jamie as a wee lad, much too his embarrassment. Claire loved watching him with Jenny’s kids; roars of delight echoing through the house as wee Jamie and Maggie wrestled him to the floor by the hearth and held him down so that 2 year old Kitty could waddle over and belly-flop onto his stomach. Seeing him so, among his family, relaxed and clearly in his element, sent a pleasant jolt through her belly.

“What would ye say, Sassenach,” Jamie said softly behind her, “if we were to marry here? Would ye mind that overmuch?” She held his hand in both of her own, threading her fingers with his, feeling the strong muscle that ran the length of his forearm. He was silent save for his level breathing.

“I’d love that, Jamie. Would we do it here, in the house?” she twisted round so she could look at him.

“No, not here. There’s a wee kirk up near the old broch. It’s where Frasers have married for generations,” he said tracing the curve of her cheek.

“Well, I wouldn’t want to come between a Fraser and his traditions,” she smiled, lightly pecking the back of his hand. “It sounds perfect. On one condition, though.”

“Name it.”

“I don’t want to wait. I want us to marry soon as we may. Just us and your family, and a few friends.”

He bent down and kissed her gently; he smelled of horses, whisky and Jamie, and her response to him had no end whatever.

“Done,” he said, and kissed her some more.

***

Claire was just about finished adjusting her cap, when she caught sight of Jamie in the mirror, walking out of the bathroom in his costume behind her.

“ _What the f_ …?” she said in reflex, astonished at the sight of Jamie Fraser dressed as Obi Wan Kenobi, lightsaber in hand.

“What?” he said, looking down and adjusting his Jedi robe. “Ian’s going as Luke.” He straightened up, dramatically lifted his lightsaber in the air, which promptly buzzed to life. He was grinning from ear to ear. “And what are ye then,” he said, taking her costume in properly for the first time.

“I am a World War II nurse,” she saluted him. “My grandmama was one, or so Uncle Lamb said when I was little.” She hardly ever spoke of her Uncle who’d raised her. Jamie saw the brief shadow of sadness cross her face when she always did.

“Oh, aye? Well, let me tell ye, Sassenach, if I were a soldier and saw ye dressed in tha’, I’d have shot myself in the foot - _repeatedly_ \- just to have ye tend me. Ye look incredible.” He moved toward her while he spoke, lifting his hand in the air which she high-fived obligingly, then twined her fingers with his, all the while his glinting eyes roaming her body. She could see the thoughts play in that cheeky blue gaze, and knew exactly just what kind of *tending* he had in mind.

***

They came down to the party a trifle later than they’d intended, but the festivities were well in full swing, that no one noticed their tardiness - save Jenny. Claire stood off to the side with her, as they watched their men theatrically sparring with their lightsabers - accompanying sound effects and all.

“They’re worse than a pair of lassies!” Jenny was saying shaking her head. “D’ye ken those numpties coordinate their costumes every year? But, we like them fine, I suppose.”

Claire couldn’t help but laugh, imagining what _that_ conversation would sound like. Jenny herself was dressed as Anne Bonny - slouch hat and all, though she was just an extremely “sexy pirate” in Ian’s eyes - who, after thunderously declaring to the room at large, Luke to be the greatest Jedi in all the Galaxy, was now challenging Jamie - who adamantly refuted this claim by asserting Obi Wan as the greatest Master of all time - to an arm wrestling contest to definitively settle the matter. Claire, finding this display thoroughly entertaining, moved to pour herself and Jenny some whisky while they watched, but Jenny declined.

“Och, thank ye, but I canna drink just now. And neither should ye, for that matter.” she said matter-of-factly.

Claire froze mid-pour and looked intently at Jenny. Then smiled. “Are you pregnant, then, Jenny? Do the guys know?” She looked over at Jamie and Ian, now having cleared a little table, were kneeling before it, rucking up their robe sleeves. Then back at Jenny, who wasn’t showing at all yet.

Jenny merely nodded, but Claire could tell she was happy all the same. Then it slowly dawned on her all of what Jenny had just said, _and neither should ye_. Jenny was watching her as the realization of her words sunk in. “I- no, I’m not, I mean I can’t be, surely. Its much too soon…” Claire’s voice trailed off as she tried to think - having been so busy she’d lost track - when she last had her courses.

“If there’s one thing I’ve developed a keen sense for from being a midwife and a mother of three- _soon-to-be-four_ , is the look of a woman wi’ child. And you, good-sister, have the look.”

The little table’s legs creaked and abruptly gave way, the table top shattering under the sheer force that had so unceremoniously descended upon it.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wee missing moment from Part 13.

**Frank's Letter.**

 

They’d been back from Loch Lomond only a few hours, Jamie having quickly run out to get some Indian food from the restaurant Claire liked. She roamed the apartment, looking around with a fresh appreciation. Everything felt wonderfully different and new. They’d hardly slept all weekend, yet she felt restored and elated. And freed.

She walked into the kitchen to find the papers Ned had brought over still strewn there, forgotten. Frank’s letter peeking out from underneath a few sheets. She hadn’t had time to read it, nor, truth be told, had she really wanted to. But now, it felt only right in the quiet solitude of her apartment, to see what was in it, what - if anything - had kept him from signing all that time. Sighing, she sat turning the envelop over in her hands for a moment before opening it. _My darling Claire,_ it began, and her heart squeezed a little.

 

> _My darling Claire,_
> 
> _By now you’ve received the papers you’ve so long been awaiting. It must have seemed - frustratingly so, given the amount of times your lawyer called mine - to you like I had been stalling. I was, in all honesty. I wished to give you time. To think about it all, about us, hoping all the while that maybe a part of you still longed for me, as I did you. I thought perhaps with time, you may change your mind and come back to me._
> 
> _But as time past and hearing nothing from you - save what your Mr. Gowan wished to relay - I knew. Knew you’d moved on. Moved on to_ him _perhaps. Seeing our lives so… detached, I suppose you could say, laid out plain and simply in those papers, scared me. Had our lives truly been so disconnected? Had we really never shared life as we should have as husband and wife? I realized that even though love existed between us, it wasn’t the love it ought to have been, it would never have been enough. And so I signed the papers, and to my shock, I felt a wave of relief. Is that a horrible thing to say?_
> 
> _I only wish you find the happiness and the kind of love you so truly deserve. It’s all I have ever wanted for you. I write to you now, not as a sign of lingering attachment, but to formally say goodbye and wish that, when you do think of our time together, it’s with fondness - as I always will - and not with indifference or rancor._
> 
> _And as much as it kills me to say, I hope the Scot truly gives you all that I couldn’t._
> 
> _Be well, my darling._
> 
> _FR._

 She hadn’t heard Jamie enter or walk up behind her, only feeling his presence when he lay his hands gently on her shoulders. He’d quietly read the letter over her shoulder, his thumbs making small circles at the nape of her neck. She didn’t hide the tear that slid slowly down her cheek nor object when Jamie lifted her and took her place on the chair, pulling her down to sit on his lap, wrapping his arms tightly about her.

“I canna blame him for waiting,” Jamie said softly, after some time. “Six years is a long time.”

“It is,” Claire sighed into his shoulder. “But I’m where I want - _need_ \- to be. Where I’ve always been meant to be.” She looked up into Jamie’s eyes then, and saw all she felt reflected there.

“Aye? Well, shame I canna say the same,” He teased, eyes glinting with mischief, and got smacked on the back of the head for his trouble, making him laugh even more. He swiftly grabbed her flailing hand and kissed it before she inflicted anymore damage. “Dinner’s getting cold, Sassenach,” he said, not moving.

“In a minute,” She replied, settling more comfortably on his lap.


	15. Chapter 15

##  **Part 14.**

**  
**

 Back home, several days later, life had resumed its inexorable routine, and Claire still wracked her brain trying to figure out when exactly she’d conceived. She couldn’t have been more than a couple of weeks along - three tops, she estimated. They hadn’t been precautionary by any means, but she hadn’t thought it was a possibility either. Then it came to her, vividly and powerfully enough to make her skin tingle with the memory.

***

Three weeks before, she’d come home to find Jamie in the dark silent hours of the night, sprawled on their bed, dead asleep, arms folded upon his chest, and completely naked. He hadn’t stirred as she undressed or woke when she gently got onto the bed beside him.

Claire felt him come suddenly and completely awake at the feel of her roaming touch. Her hands slowly and very deliberately ran along his chest, ribs, abdomen, making circuits along every inch his bare skin she could reach. Then, lower down. She began to stroke him gentle, moving leisurely up and down, till his cock stirred in her fist. And all the while she’d been exploring him, she’d had her lips round his nipple. Her tongue flicking lightly.

He lay completely still and silent, breathing evenly - even though his body came alive under her ministrations - letting her do as she would to him. But when her teeth closed round the tiny, rock hard nub and pulled, he couldn’t help but breathe in sharply, an involuntary hiss escaping him.

“About time,” Claire whispered and he could hear the smile in her voice. She didn’t stop. Peppering his chest with feather light kisses, she paused a moment to bury her nose in the hollow of his chest and inhaled deeply. Then moved fully on top of him, taking him inside her - half-hard - wanting to know the feeling of him coming to his full strength while joined to him. She leaned back down and took his other nipple in her mouth, paying it the same consideration she did the other. Slowly, but surely, she felt him steel even further within her.

It was an incredibly new, slightly odd, yet a powerfully rousing sensation. Like nothing she’d ever felt before. He began to fill her, without her having to move at all yet.

Jamie had been determined to let Claire do what she would, but his hands moved - as if having a mind of their own - up her legs. His thumbs, feeling the soft skin of her inner thighs, ran soft circles that got her finally rolling her hips. She moaned against him as his hands made their way back, taking a full and firm grip, the tips of his fingers curving along her crease. He lifted her - exquisitely slowly - up once, then back down, causing her legs to uncontrollably tremble against his hips.

Claire ran her tongue from nipple to neck, taking his earlobe between her teeth and breathed in his ear. “I came home, my body aching for you, you looked so peaceful though, I almost didn’t want to bother you. But, you were just so warm and inviting… I couldn’t help myself.” She couldn’t say anymore, her lips tracing the shape of his stubbled jaw.

Jamie’s body had been shaking from the moment he’d awoken fully, now the feel of her completely around him as he hardened even more sent shockwaves jolting through his spine and legs. He sat up abruptly, bringing her legs to wrap around his waist, and somewhat awkwardly got his knees beneath him, not once letting their linked bodies part.

He held her tight about the waist, balancing them and gently ran his hand over her breasts, thumbing her nipples gently. “My soul and body are yers, Claire, to do with as ye will and welcome. Always.” He began rocking his hips slowly. Running his teeth along her neck, feeling her shudder, the jerk of her hips urging him to move faster. “No, _mo nighean donn_. I mean to make it last.”

Claire’s hands tightened in his hair, the breath of her moan tickling his ear. He moved, dreamlike, his strong hands holding her in a way that made her feel weightless and untethered but for their connection. After a long while, she felt Jamie’s rhythm begin to falter and leaned back onto the mattress, bringing him with her, her legs tightening their hold. His breath became ragged and uneven, groaning with every breath he took release begin deep within her, triggering her own powerful response. They lay still then, panting and ears ringing, her body’s erratic aftershocks echoing that of his. Their blood thrummed through their veins.

***

And Claire knew, beyond anything, that must have been when they’d created their miracle.

***

She hadn’t found the best way to tell Jamie - he himself hadn’t realized anything was amiss, both having been too absorbed in absorbing each other. Once the initial shock had worn off and she’d confirmed what Jenny had inexplicably sensed, Claire found herself overjoyed. It wasn’t something she ever thought a possibility, having never been able with Frank, she’d been too afraid to find out medically if she maybe couldn’t. Now, no more than a few weeks pregnant, she began letting herself imagine the possibilities that lay ahead for her and Jamie.

Claire could barely contain her excitement. Yet she wanted to do something special for Jamie when she told him, to mark the occasion. She’d heard countless cutesy stories of how people broke the news to their significant others and had in mind to do something similar.

“Just tell the man, LJ!” Joe’d been urging over and over. “You’re overthinking it and before you realize it, you’ll be breaking the news to him in delivery!”

“It has to be perfect,” she insisted. “I’ll come up with something, I’m sure of it!”

As it turned out, she didn’t.

***

Claire had been trying to get Jamie to binge watch LOST as long as he’d been staying at her place after his accident, to which he’d vehemently resisted. It was too weird, he said. He’d heard mixed stories. He didn’t want to waste time on something he wouldn’t get into. It had a random beastie in it. She’d got him stuck in to too many shows already.

A few days after getting back from Lallybroch though, Jamie had come down with quite a bad cold and was bedridden - or more precisely, couch-ridden (insisting he didn’t want to make Claire sick too) - and had developed the habit of letting things play in the background while she was at work and he slept. So, after their customary battle with the VapoRub - Claire having to man-handle him as he stubbornly protested.

“I dinna need it, dammit!”

“Yes, you bloody do! Now, will you just bloody hold still!”

“NO! I canna stand the stuff, Sassenach!”

“Jesus H. Roosevelt Christ! Jamie!”

And after having to put her knee in his abdomen to hold him down and thoroughly anointing him to her satisfaction, she fluffed up his pillows and tucked him in, leaving only his reddened nose and glowering eyes peeking out of the covers. Making sure his phone (charger and all), juice, meds, thermos of honey and lemon tea, tissues and remote were all within arms reach, Claire queued up the first episode and knelt down by his head. “Eat will you, last night you slept without eating. Order something. And keep yourself hydrated, please. Don’t have any of the cold stuff in the fridge, I’ve put out some drinks for you on the kitchen table, if you finish what’s here. Then get some _rest_ , alright.” He simply huffed, but nodded all the same. With one last kiss on his heated forehead, she headed for the door - hearing him shift to get himself more comfortable before unpausing the episode - and left for work.

***

“Damb ye, woman.” Jamie was so congested she could barely make out the words.

“Well, good morning to you too,” Claire replied casually as she came in and haphazardly threw her coat onto its hook. She gradually took in the state around the couch - discarded tissues lay strewn all over the floor, the empty thermos lay on its side. A pizza box sat askew on the coffee table - half-eaten pizza forgotten - and episode 14 paused on the telly. It was also 5am and he seemed rather irritably awake. “Jamie, please tell me you haven’t been awake all this time?” The state of his bloodshot eyes and general disheveledness answered her question for her.

“I didna want to be! But, I couldna stob mysel’! _This_ -” he gestured rudely at the telly, “-wouldna let me! ‘One more ebisode, one more ebisode’, before I knew it, yer homb. Damb ye, woman,” he finished, giving her an accusatory look.

Overcome with tenderness at the reproachful expression on his face for having gotten him hooked on yet another show, she knelt by his head and buried her fingers in his shaggy hair and massaged his scalp, feeling his forehead as she did; his fever had finally gone down.

“Mrs. Bug brought soub,” he said, voice hoarse.

“Would you like me to heat you up some?”

“Aye, please, _mbo nighean donn_.”

She found the chicken soup where he’d said Mrs. Bug had left it and warmed up a bowl for him. Then sat beside him, watching as he half sat, half lay, balancing the bowl on his chest. His breathing heavy and raw nose blocked to the brim; he had to take deep breaths every time he took a spoonful. He looked so innocent then.

“Come to bed, Jamie,” she said tenderly.

“Not like this, Sassenach. I dinna want to make you ill,” he said between bites.

“You won’t.”

He smiled at her. He patted her knee, then put his bowl down and rested his head upon her thigh, looking up at her.

“You _dinna_ want to make me sick, but we’re as close now as we will be in bed, love,” she said looking down at him. He took her hand and put it in his hair; she obliging scratched his scalp. He moaned, eyes closing, as the pleasant rasp of it made his body ripple with goosebumps. She watched as a smile tugged at the corner of his lip and threaded the fingers of her other hand in his where it rested on his chest. He looked knackered and fragile all at once. She suddenly realized she didn’t need anything special or fancy or over-the-top - just him.

“Cold be damned, Jamie, I need to feel you near me, your arms around me… We _both_ do.”

His eyes promptly shot open.

***

Jamie knew something was up. From the moment he’d caught sight of Claire after he and Ian had smashed Jenny’s rickety little table, and saw the blank look of utter shock on her face. Then her eyes had suddenly focused on him, and a look of extraordinary joy transformed her face. Something had changed. All the days after Samhain, Claire had been giddy and jumpy. He’d catch her watching him excitedly, only to look away abruptly. Then he’d fallen sick and she’d been occupied with taking care of him, but he could still sense the change in her.

Now, Jamie’s fingers fiercely squeezed Claire’s he was sure he’d bruised her, he looked up at her; into those whisky eyes boring into his, that spoke volumes without having to utter a single word.

_“Both”?_

_Yes._

_Yer sure?_

_Absolutely._

_And it isna you and me ye mean?_

_You’re going to be a father._

Before he knew it, he’d pinned her beneath him, arms locked around her, his face buried in her neck.

“Jamie! You’re squashing me!” Claire said, breathless. He didn’t move, only shook in her arms. She held him as hard as she could, till finally he lifted his head, eyes glistening.

“Truly, Claire?” he whispered, as if afraid his voice would disturb his dreaming.

“Truly.” And she brought his head back down to her and cradled him as he came completely undone.

As it happens, neither slept in bed that day. Instead, lying pressed together on the sofa, hands protectively shielding their little wonder, they listened to the sounds of an urban dawn, as Edinburgh woke up around them.


	16. Chapter 16

##  **Part 15.**

 

 As simple a wedding as Claire wanted, she hadn’t realized just how much went into planning one. With a constant stream of calls and texts from Jenny with lists of menus, guests and invitation designs, available dates, dresses; with her work schedule and all, Claire’d been ready to head straight for City Hall and be done with it. But it had been important to Jamie, so she bit back any objections she had and finally just defaulted everything - but the dress - to Jenny to sort out.

“All we need is a priest, a church and each other, and I’d be satisfied,” she told Joe during a quick lunch break. “But even small weddings need some fanfare, I suppose.” She pawed uninterestedly at her salad while discreetly eyeing Joe’s spicy chicken wings and chips, who - noticing her insistent glances, sighed and switched their plates - much to Claire’s appreciation.

“It can’t be that bad! Is there nothing about the whole thing that’s got you buzzed?” He asked, and seeing her cheeky smirk, added, “Apart from the honeymoon!”

She thought for a moment, there hadn’t been much either Jenny or Jamie had told her about their traditions - most sounded old fashioned, but awfully beautiful. And of course, there would be a fair bit of drinking involved after. “Jamie said the ceremony is done both in English and Gaelic, but other than that, it was pretty much a standard ceremony. His sister recited some of the Gaelic ones for me the other day. There was one vow though - that isn’t really practiced anymore actually, sounded rather incredible. I asked her if she could teach it to me so I could surprise him. But my Gaelic is - as of yet - atrocious!”

“So you won’t exchange your on own vows, then?” He asked, curious. Joe had never been to a Scottish wedding before and was thoroughly looking forward to attending this one.

“I thought of it, but the moment I heard this one and its meaning - its really old - it just felt… _Right_.” She smiled. As much as she found the whole process somewhat tedious, she couldn’t deny the gratifying summersault her stomach did at the mere thought of becoming Jamie’s wife, and he her husband.

“There is one other thing I do really want.” She eyed Joe as he picked his way around the spinach in the salad and answered her with a distracted “Mmm?”

“I want you to be my maid of honor.”

His face went through an extraordinary sequence of emotions at once. From blank confusion, to dubiousness, to finally dawning excitement. “You serious, LJ? I mean, I wouldn’t wanna step on anyone’s toes, and from what you’ve said about his sister…”

“Yes I am serious. No you won’t step on anyone’s toes. And it was her idea I pick a maid of honor. Someone special to me. And Joe, you are! If it wasn’t for you switching your shifts with me whenever I asked - and even when I didn’t - I wouldn’t have had nearly as much time with Jamie as I have. You’ve been my best friend, my cheerleader, my confidant, my chicken wing peddler, ever since you started here. Do me the honor and privilege of walking me down the aisle and stand by me as I marry the man of my heart?”

He stood and opened his arms, gesturing for her to join him in a hug, which she did gladly.

“Guess this means,” he said into her shoulder, “I’m gonna have to meet this man of yours, finally.”

***

Jamie watched as Murtagh wandered around the apartment randomly picking things up and putting them down. It wasn’t his first time there, in fact, since Jamie had moved in with Claire, Murtagh had been over more times than he could count. But his gruff godfather hadn’t been relaxed now, since Jamie had asked him.

“And yer sure, lad?” Murtagh asked for the hundredth time.

“Aye, we both are! Ye know Claire’s come to love ye like her own. She wants this as much as I do,” Jamie replied, watching as Murtagh did yet another lap of the flat.

Murtagh had always known about Jamie’s feelings for Claire, but could never understand them. Jamie after all, had never interacted with her. Yet, when the time came, Murtagh had quite readily accepted her. He and Claire had quickly become connected - or rather Murtagh bonded with her easier than he did other people - over not just Jamie, but on a number of other (to Jamie, at least) random topics. He’d even walked in on them once in the midst of an extremely heated discussion about _The Great British Bake-off_. Murtagh comfortably slotted into their lives, even freely coming and going into their flat as he pleased - though after a few unfortunately and terribly timed visits on his part (catching Claire and Jamie in more or less the buff on a number of occasions), had taken to knocking whenever he came over, and on occasion, calling ahead of time.

Now, Jamie sat patiently waiting for an answer. He and Claire had discussed it and had quickly and in unison come to the same conclusion. They knew the man he was and there’d been in no doubt whatever.

“So what d’ye say, _a goistidh_? Will ye do us the honor of being godparent to our bairn?” Jamie asked once again.

“And what of yer sister and her man? Surely they’re better suited-”

“Jenny and Ian will mind our bairns as well, nay worry, but ‘tis ye we choose to stand wi’ us all when time comes. We want all of our family wi’ us. And ye, _a goistidh_ , are our family too. Always.”

He saw his godfather blushed slightly and mumble a gruff _‘mmmph’_ at his words. Finally, Murtagh nodded, then cringed as Jamie engulfed him in a bear hug.

***

“What did Murtagh say,” Claire said, as she stroked the damp hair from Jamie’s face, where it lay, cheek pressed against her chest. She smiled down her nose at him and saw the curve of his cheek as he grinned, his finger tracing her belly button, then down hip bone and thigh. Both of them not a little out of breath.

They hadn’t much time to speak when she got home - Jamie being of one thought alone, had picked her up and marched to the bedroom, without so much as a ‘by your leave’. She’d worked a double shift the day before, and even though she was exhausted, she always seemed to have energy to spare when it came to Jamie.

“Let me take a quick bath first, Jamie.” She said her chin perched on his shoulder.

“No,” he’d always reply, definitely. 

Gently putting her on the bed, he began the slow process of carefully undressing her. She never objected to this, seeing as how he always started at her feet - knowing how long she had to stand, he meticulously massaged his way up her body from feet to scalp, taking off whatever clothes hindered his progress. And when he was done using his hands, started using his tongue - kissing his way from her forehead to the soles of her feet, then lightly back up her inner thighs.

“Oh,” Claire watched soundless starbursts against her shut eyelids. She felt weightless, yet every nerve ending felt delicately raw all at once, sparking waves of sensation coursing through her body. She writhed uncontrollably, but was held in place as she spasmed. She lay trembling, ears ringing, having no recollection whatsoever of him undressing. She came to herself when she felt her knees nudged apart once more, crying out involuntarily as he delicately slid home, sensitive skin notwithstanding. 

He took a deep, satisfying breath, enjoying the scent of her; her skin flushed from lovemaking. “Murtagh didna - well, no - he _couldna_ say so much as nod. Oh and if the bairn is as ‘hard-heided as his Da,’ then he ‘reserves the right to rescind his station’.” He laughed, his breath tickling her bare skin. “He was very touched, Sassenach,” he kissed her on her tummy. “What of Joe?”

“He said yes too, but he’d kind of like to meet you before the ceremony so I set up a dinner with the four of us. I hope you don’t mind,” she teased, running her fingers down his back.

“Of course I don’t mind! Wait… _Four_?” he said, lifting his head up to look at her.

“Oh, yeah! Joe’s married.”


	17. Chapter 17

##  **Part 16.**

 

 After a number of failed attempts to sync up their schedules (seeing as how they covered shifts for each other), Claire and Joe finally sorted out the particulars with the hospital and both got a Sunday off. Jamie, who’d been talking nonstop about meeting Joe and his wife Gail, could not make up his mind about what he wanted the meal to be. Every time Claire came home, she was inundated with questions. What did Joe like to eat? What did Gail like to eat? Were they allergic to anything? What about waffles for dinner? - _Waffles?_ she’d thought amused, _someone’s been watching Parks and Rec._ Formal or informal? And on and on. She answered as best she could, but after yet another menu change a few hours before the Abernathys’ were meant to arrive, Claire had had enough.

“Pizza and beer,” she said with finality. “Oooh and some spicy chicken wings for me. I’ve been craving the buggers all day!”

“Sassenach! We canna serve them take out! We have to make something special,” he said, exasperated. “And I’ll order some wings for ye, from the Indian restaurant ye like so much,” he added, giving her peck on the forehead.

“Thanks, love. Extra spicy, yeah? And no. No more menu changes. No more questions. Pizza and beer - and orange juice for me,” she said as she dialed Joe’s number. “Hi, Joe. Pizza ok?” she asked trying to hold Jamie off as he made to grab the phone. “And the toppings?” - she jerked out of Jamie’s reach and round the kitchen table so it stood between them - “Perfect! We’ll order when you’re on your way. Yup, 7:30! See you guys then!” - Jamie lunged across the table, but she dodged past him and ran behind the sofa. “Its done, Jamie! No _-no-no-no_ stop!” She shrieked with delight as he picked her up and dumped her on the sofa, and began ruthlessly pinching her bum.

“Why would you do that, woman?!” He said, interjecting every word with pinches.

“Because,” she said breathless, slapping his hands away to no avail, “ow! You were driving me insane! Joe’s a very laid back guy. He isn’t one for fuss making.” She got hold of his wrists then and yanked him on top of her. Like a magnet, his lips found hers.

“Aye, well…” he said, when he eventually came up for air - shifting so he didn’t squish her - his nimble fingers having already unbuttoned her top. “What time did ye say they’ll be here?”

***

They sat around the coffee table - Claire and Gail sitting on cushions on the floor opposite Jamie and Joe on the sofa - and had made their way through two large pizzas (Claire’s discarded chicken bones scattered in one of the empty boxes), and were slowly nibbling at a third - a fourth pizza sat untouched on the kitchen table, with a fair amount of beer bottles strewn around them.

As it was, Claire and Jamie had been rather preoccupied when they heard a cheery knock on their door promptly at 7:30, realizing with a sudden shock, they hadn’t ordered dinner yet. But in true Joe and Gail fashion, they didn’t mind, it gave them time chat while they waited for the dinner to arrive. Conversation came easy and they all soon found their rhythm.

“So how d’ye two meet?” Jamie asked, taking a sip of beer.

“Well,” Joe began, settling himself more comfortably on the sofa, looking at Gail over the pizza boxes. “I was here with a few friends for a two week vacation, and a few days in - while they were getting piss drunk in the middle of the afternoon, I took a walk, got caught in the rain and ducked into a building that turned out to be the Museum of Edinburgh. I walked around for a bit, then heard this sweet, powerful voice, with an American accent, giving what sounded like a tour.”

“But, alas it was just me jabbering on to a couple of girlfriends,” Gail coquettishly put in.

“I discreetly - and in no way creepily - followed them around awhile.” Joe said, sheepishly.

“Then he _finally_ gathered up his courage and came up, asking me out for drinks.”

“Turned out, she was living here. Studying Art History.”

“He-” Claire cut in, pointing at Joe in mock accusation, “-gave up a Harvard scholarship, to move here and be with her.”

Joe threw a crumpled up tissue at her. “I didn’t give anything up I wasn’t willing to part with in the first place. Best decision I ever made.” He leaned over to grab another slice, giving Claire a gimlet eye, “and you’re one to talk, LJ!” Turning to Jamie, he continued. “In all the years I’ve been at the hospital, she never once took any extended leave, no matter how much they urged her too, apart from a couple of days here and there when Frank blew into town, or a weekend off for studying. She took double shifts or switched with those of us wanting nights off. She worked her ass off - that is, until a few months ago. All of a sudden, she’s clawing like crazy for days off and shift changes… Wonder why _that_ was!”

Jamie laughed, seeing Claire’s cheeks flare. “Aye, that may have been my fault,” he said, nudging her outstretched foot under the table. “And ‘ _LJ_ ’?” he looked from one to the other, but Joe answered readily enough. 

“Ah, yeah, that was me. Her accent, you know. Sounds like she just had tea with the Queen. _Very_ posh and authoritative,” he mimicked terribly. “Reminded me of the heroine in this raunchy and highly cheesy romance novel that’s been in the doctor’s lounge forever.” Much to Jamie’s amusement, Claire’s cheeks flushed even more.

“Yeah, I think it’s time for dessert, wouldn’t you say, Gail?” Claire said, as she got up, clearing some of the mess around the table, not meeting Jamie’s eye.

“I think you’re right,” Gail replied, following Claire to the kitchen, three empty beer bottles in each hand. They’d brought a box of cupcakes with them, and all Claire had to do was make the coffee.

As they watched the ladies chatting in the kitchen, Joe turned to Jamie, his expression stern. “I’m glad we have a chance to talk alone for a moment,” he said in hushed tones. “LJ doesn’t have much in way of family, and I’ve come to care about her a lot over the years. She’s a little sister to me. I see she cares for you - as I hope you do her. A lot. Like I’ve never seen her before.”

Jamie, affixed with solemn look and all, listened to Joe, nodding when he needed to, agreed when appropriate, but wanted nothing more than to give the man a hug. He found he _loved_ Claire having someone to look out for her as Joe was doing. A comfort.

“I just,” Joe said, earnestly. “I don’t want to see her get hurt.” Jamie looked over Joe’s shoulder and watched a moment as Claire fiddled with the coffee maker, before answering. His eyes then focused squarely on Joe’s.

“I willna hurt her. Ever. She’s…” his voice unexpectedly caught in his throat and he had to take a swallow of beer to clear it. “She’s my heart. As I am hers. Ye have my word.”

Claire and Gail made their way back to the living room, cupcakes and coffee in hand, Claire laughing at something Gail had said. Joe clapped Jamie on the shoulder and whispered, “well I do believe you, brother. But just so you know, I’m pretty efficient with a scalpel,” he added with a cheeky little wink, as the ladies sat back down.

***

The Abernathys left well after midnight, all having lost track of the time as they were never left wanting for conversation. As Jamie shut the door on their departing guests, he turned to find Claire cleaning up, humming quietly to herself. She moved slowly about the kitchen, shoulders slumped a little, he could tell she was spent, but knew she hated leaving dishes undone. But despite her fatigue, she was radiant, her skin flushed with more than just the evening’s exertions. She hadn’t really started showing yet but for the smallest of small swells straining slightly against her fitted shirts. She was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.

“Leave it be, Sassenach, I’ll sort it out tomorrow,” he said coming up behind her, placing his hands on her waist. She gratefully leaned back, pulling his arms tighter about her.

“You’re sure?” she asked. He wasn’t one for cleaning, but did keep his word when he said he would.

“Aye, dinna fash yersel’. _Tighinn an seo, mo ghràdh_ ,” he said turning her around and lifting her onto the counter so he stood between her knees. She wrapped her legs round his hips and lightly bit his bottom lip, pulling him closer. He kissed her hungrily, hands slipping beneath her shirt. She breathlessly moaned against him as his fingers found the sensitive peaks of her breasts, her nipples aching for him.

“I’m sorry,” he said after a moment, drawing back. “I ken yer tired, but I just canna keep my hands from ye.” He slid his hands into the back of her jeans, squeezing gently.

“You don’t _ever_ have to apologize for this,” she answered, unbuttoning his khakis, which promptly pooled around his ankles - his boxers immediately following suit.

“Here?” Jamie asked cautiously, yet slowly undid her jeans and tugged them off her hips, watching all the while as she shed her top and tossed it to the floor. Then, rather roughly, yanked his over his head.

“Here,” Claire said, definitely, and in a manner that brooked no argument, as she guided him inexorably into her.

He didn’t argue.


	18. Chapter 18

##  **Part 17.**

 

 The wedding preparations were well and truly in full steam. The date had been set - the eve of Hogmanay. Being a small wedding, Jenny elected to be in charge of the food and all the nitpickier details. Invitations - few as they were - had already been sent out. Lallybroch was being prepared to host the 30 or so guests, some of whom would be spending the night - if not a couple. Jamie already had his outfit sorted, which he infuriatingly refused to show Claire - again. 

“If I canna see yer wedding dress, then ye canna see what I’ll be wearing neither!” he’d said smugly. To which Claire would punch his arm in response.

That, much to Jenny’s frustration, was the only thing that hadn’t been touched upon ye - not even a little. Claire’s wedding dress. She had wanted to pick her own, but as of yet could not find the time to go shop for one. “And looking at pictures on yer laptop, dinna count!” Jenny admonished. And with her pregnancy, she just didn’t think she’d find one now that’ll still fit later.

“Dinna fash about tha’. I can always adjust it for ye closer to the day. Plus you’ll not be but hardly three months gone, ye’ll barely be showin’!” Jenny would repeatedly assure her. After a fair bit of nagging, Jenny finally took matters into her own hands, and leaving the wee ones in Ian’s hands for the day, headed up to Edinburgh early one blistery November morning (knowing Claire had the Saturday off), fully intending to get Claire to pick a wedding dress by the end of the day.

Claire knew she needed help - dress shopping didn’t exactly come naturally to her - and if anyone could get it done in a day, it’d be Jenny. Still, the prospect of shopping all day was not something she was looking forward to.

Jamie sat at the kitchen table, toast in one hand, Claire’s shirttail gripped in the other as she leaned back against the table, cradling a cup of ginger honey tea, both watching Jenny mapping out their route for the day. She had at least five shops in mind to visit, but Jamie hoped for both Claire and Jenny sakes, they wouldn’t have to visit them all. Claire had started getting rather violent bouts of morning sickness, and tended to be a little weak for a couple of hours after - even though she hated to admit it - and didn’t want her tiring herself unnecessarily. He knew though he needn’t worry, she was in safe hands with Jenny.

“Now, if we’re quick about it, we can make it these two or three shops here before lunch, if need be,” Jenny was saying in a business-like manner. Claire had roughly described to Jenny over the phone and out of earshot of Jamie, what she had in mind, so it was just a matter of quick google searches to find the boutiques that could have what she was looking for. “We’ll find what ye’ll like. And if not, we’ll just get it specially made. I know a lady who for a wee bit extra, can get it done in a pinch.” _A wee bit extra_ , Claire knew, was Scots for bank breaking.

***

Leaving Jamie grumbling about losing a whole day with her, Claire and Jenny made their out for their girls-only day, her spirits lifting as they stepped out into the crisp air, settling her stomach. Jenny was determinedly one track minded, but to Claire’s relief, she found it rather steadying.

The first shop they went to was a complete bust, spending only a half hour there before admitting they wouldn’t find what they were looking for and quickly moved on to the next. All the dresses Claire tried on were either too poofy, too busy, the trains too long, the neckline too low-cut, too much lace, not enough lace, and so on. Nothing felt right.

“All I want is something simple, Jenny. None of these are gonna work for me,” she said, unenthusiastically examining herself in a gaudy, strapless, plunging V-neck.

“I ken fine well. The colour’s completely wrong for yer skin tone too,” Jenny walked around her inspecting her.

“It’s white…?”

“And it’s wrong.”

***

Claire grumpily trudged back to the dressing room to try on yet another gown, her stomach rumbling. It was almost half past one and they were still at the second boutique, with Claire more than ready to call it a day, when Jenny caught up with her, gown draped over her arm.

“Think I found it! Found what it is yer looking for!” she said, a trifle breathless, but thoroughly eager.

It took Claire longer to get out of the one she was currently wearing than it did to put the new one on. But the moment she did, she knew. It was the one.

“D’ye like it?” Jenny asked tentatively.

Claire was silent for a moment, she couldn’t speak for the lump in her throat. She swallowed a couple of times, clearing it. Turning from side to side, regarding her reflection in the mirror. It would definitely need a few minor adjustments but…

“It’s perfect,” she finally said simply.

***

Jamie was in a quiet mood. Claire had left him with a hasty kiss and a sympathetic look, off to complete the final piece in the puzzle of the wedding preparations, leaving him at a loss with what to do with himself. Finally, after aimlessly flipping through channels for a while, he decided to call Murtagh and the lads to see if they were up for the footy match at the pub later.

They came in their usual rowdy fashion, each donning their team jerseys. They’d finally stopped teasing him about his new flat, which always carried the earthy scents of herbs in the air, the softer “feminine” tones and _far_ more comfortable furniture. Of course, he’d brought some of his own things over when he moved in, but the apartment, as it was, was small and there was only so much they could fit into it. He hadn’t cared though. Neither had Claire. The things had never mattered to them.

Now, the lads had found a new thing to constantly pester him about. something he’d vehemently discouraged, but that never stopped them.

The stag party.

“Come on, Jamie! It’s yer God given right to have a stag night! A beer in yer hand and a hoor in yer lap!” Angus insisted, grinning his toothless grin, as the whistle went for half time.

“I’ve told you already, a wee gomerel! I’m no’ having one at all, let alone the one ye have planned in that filthy mind of yours. I dinna need nor want it!” Jamie adamantly replied.

“Ye do need one, even if ye dinna know it yet,” put in Rupert. They’d finally gotten past the whole Laoghaire affair, to which Rupert had held a bit anger towards Jamie for.

“No.”

“We won’t go to a bawdy house if that’s what worries ye,” Murtagh said helpfully.

“No.”

“Just drinks, then. At _World’s End_. Ye can invite anybody ye like - that isna the lass!” Murtagh hurriedly said, seeing the look on Jamie’s face.

“Aye, how about her doctor friend?” Angus said. “Her _maid of honor_ ,” for some reason he found the notion beyond hysterical and took a while before regaining his composure.

Jamie was just about to say no again, but the idea of a chilled night out with his mates sounded rather appealing. Maybe he could get Ian up for the night as well.

“Aye,” he said finally. “I’ll talk to Claire-”

“Oh aye, please do, ye mustn’t forget to ask for her permission. Dinna need-” Rupert began flippantly, but was neatly cut off by Jamie’s sharp look.

“Aye, we’ll arrange something. A good lads night out sounds fun,” Jamie said genuinely, just as the second half kicked off.

***

Claire and Jenny, having decided the dress will go back to Lallybroch with Jenny (so Jamie couldn’t take a wee peek), with final fittings to be done closer to the date, they decided to go out for lunch, conversations shifting to general topics. A weight Claire didn’t realize she carried lifted, as she couldn’t help but gaze at her dress draped on the chair beside her - their extra shopping bags with bits and bobs on the floor beside them - tidily put away in its black garment bag, a step closer towards sealing her life with Jamie forever.

“Finally sinking in, no?” Jenny said, amused.

“Yeah. It honestly feels like a whirlwind. Feels like just yesterday when I decided to leave my husband. When I realized I had feelings for Jamie.” Claire said, giving Jenny a shy smile. In truth, it had been five months since she’d been to Oxford, and in about a month she’d be married once more.

Everything about marrying Jamie felt different to when she’d married Frank. For one, hers and Frank’s marriage was a simple civil union with a couple of witnesses - both colleagues of his - and a quiet dinner after. She had loved Frank well enough, had wanted to be married and was thrilled when he’d asked, but everything about their time together had been demure and - for lack of a better word - refined, even their lovemaking. Yet however passionate she thought she felt with Frank, paled in comparison to what it was to be with Jamie.

Everything with Jamie was shattering. Every emotion, touch, whisper spoken and promise unspoken shattered and reformed her. She felt him viscerally reverberate within her, constantly an unconscious extension of herself. So much so, that she’d come to stop fighting it, and always let herself disintegrate as she may, knowing that she was safe with him. As he was with her.

“Odd, is it no’?” Jenny said, watching her. “Giving yer life to another as they give their life to ye. Though, I suppose ye know the feeling. Being married once before.”

Claire took a sip of her tea, thinking. “It’s funny, you know. It wasn’t the same with Frank. I look back now and see the differences. Subtle as they are.” She looked up to find Jenny earnestly regarding her. “I could live with Frank, and be happy. I could also live without him and be just as happy - if not more so sometimes. I didn’t really… _need_ him. I thought I did, once. But, I didn’t. Jamie…” she swallowed, trying to put into words pure emotion. “Jamie’s an invariable part of me now in a way I didn’t think was possible. To be completely vulnerable yet completely safe all at the same time. I thought I knew what love was with Frank. Turned out, I knew nothing.” she finished with a bit of a laugh.

“Aye, I ken all too well that all consuming feeling. I dinna ken what I’d do without Ian by my side,” Jenny said, shrugging. Then brushing away the sentimentally threatening to turn them both to mush, deftly changed the subject. “Now,” she said matter-of-factly, “about yer hen night.”


	19. Chapter 19

##  **Part 18.**

 

 Jamie finished getting dressed, catching Claire’s reflection in the mirror watching him from her perch on the edge of the bed. Her eyes roaming his still bare upper half, his body still warm from his shower. She was already dressed and ready to leave for her shift at the hospital, but spared a few minutes to take in the view.

“What is it, _ghraidh_?” Jamie asked, seeing her sigh wistfully. She caught his eye in the mirror, holding it for moment. Then suddenly got up and came up behind him, her arms coming round his waist and resting her chin on his shoulder - just barely reaching - as she stood on tiptoes. Her fingers idly ran over the bumps of his toned stomach. He leaned back into her.

“I want you to have a great time tonight,” she said, placing a kiss on his neck. “Its just the thought of what the lads might have in mind.” She let out a breath of a laugh and put her forehead between shoulder blades, standing back on the balls of her feet, tightening her hold. His fresh scent filled her senses and the slight dampness of his skin made her skin tingle.

“Ye ken its just drinks, aye? Maybe watch the rugby at the pub too,” he assured her, entwining his fingers with hers.

“I _ken_ what the lads said. Just…” she freed her hand from his, and still holding him tightly to her, unbuttoned his jeans and slipped her hand into his boxers. He inhaled sharply. “Remember who _this_ belongs to when they’re paying for lap dances for you. _Aye_?” She tugged.

“Aye. I’m no’ likely to forget that in life, Sassenach. I ken well who I belong to,” he said, voice deep and husky, closing his eyes at her delicate touch, letting his head fall back against hers.

Claire stroked him for a few minutes - both getting lost in the rhythm, swaying slightly with it, but were interrupted by the ungainly crashing currently ascending the stairs.

“Damn…” they said in unison. Claire pressed her lips to his back once more, letting her lips and hand linger on his goosebumped skin, till a persistent knocking began that threatened to bring the building down around them. With one final, languid stroke, her hand reluctantly pulled away and she stepped back.

“Finish getting… _dressed_. I’ll let them in - before they break the door down.” She gave his bottom a firm squeeze, and with a murmured apology, rushed to let the barbarians in.

Jamie heard her footsteps recede, followed soon after by a deafening and hearty chorus of “ _EHHH!!!_ ” as she opened the door. His entire body was thrumming, and with Claire’s touch still pulsing through him, he took a few minutes for himself, before joining the lads.

***

Claire waited the few minutes it took before Jamie joined them, his mates sufficiently comfortable with her to not hold back in their bawdy humor. Angus and Rupert looked determined, but Murtagh gave her a reassuring smile, nothing too drastic was going to happen while he was around - she _hoped_. And Joe… Well Joe was Joe and he fit right in with them, even masterfully taking the thorough chafing Angus was giving him about being Maid of Honor.

Jamie walked in the room looking a little flushed and caught Claire’s eye.

 _You’re good?_ Claire’s look asked, anxiously.

He solemnly blinked back. _Perfect,_ it said.

“Alright, well, I’ll leave you lads to it then,” she said primly, grabbing her bag and coat and headed for the door. Before she opened it though, she felt Jamie’s hand on the small of her back. She turned and kissed him, eliciting a wave of wolf whistles from the guys - cutting them short.

As Claire stepped out into the hallway - just as Ian arrived, breathless, Jamie’s voice came clear through the door. “ _Ye can feck off, the lot o’ ye_!”

***

The night had gotten off with a bang - literally. Murtagh’s radiator overheated spectacularly when they’d found themselves stuck in a wee traffic jam, blowing the cap clean off denting the rickety pickup’s bonnet from the inside, causing all passengers to unceremoniously flee the hastily smoking automobile.

“Aye,” Murtagh said, rubbing his neck, looking critically at his car and turning the radiator cap over in his hand. “I’ve been meaning to change the cap for a while now. It doesna close all that well anymore.”

“‘Change the cap’. Ye need a new bloody car, is what ye need. _That_ bastard’s a bloody deathtrap!” Jamie exclaimed, shaking with reaction, his anger somewhat irrationally rising. He’d never been comfortable in cars ever since his accident, only feeling remotely secure when he was behind the wheel. He never let it show, if he could help it, though.

“Perhaps it’s for the best? If we’re all planning on having a few drinks tonight, a cab’s gonna be the best means of transport, if you ask me,” Joe put in, discreetly checking his racing pulse.

“Aye, you’re right, Joe. Lets just get this piece of shite to the side of the road first, then we can make our way to the pub,” Jamie said, keen to walk off his nerves.

They pushed the car for a while, looking for a suitable place to leave it, then footed the rest of the way to the pub, in ever raucous form. Everyone had an opinion what Murtagh could do with his car. None of them all that helpful.

They got to the pub, buzzing with energy and immediately ordered a round of drinks. They’d missed the first twenty minutes if the rugby match - Scotland a _try_ ahead against Australia - which bugged Jamie to miss. They didn’t bother pacing themselves, only Joe seemed cognizant of how much everyone was drinking. The more they drank, Jamie noted, the louder they always became. Worse still when Scotland started losing in the second half.

The pub had been full of both boisterous Scottish and Australian fans, neither shy of stressing their opinions on the game. And when the match ended 31-10 to Australia, and Angus having reached a point in his cups where his mental filter be damned (if ever the bugger had one!), the inevitable happened.

“Wankers!” he bellowed. “Can’t win withou’ the help from the feckin’ ref, can ye, ye bunch of soddin’ arse-pinchers!” he declaimed, much to the group’s annoyance.

“Sit yer bloody arse down, ye wee gomerel!” Murtagh hissed, trying to grab the beer bottle from his hand and sit him down - Angus determinedly trying to climb onto his chair, for whatever reason. Angus fought him off, still spewing profanities at a group of burly looking Aussie fans, celebrating the win, a growing tension definitely creeping into their festivities. That was always Angus’ problem - he always spoke like he was 8 feet tall, even without drink fueling his passion.

Jamie exchanged looks with the other lads, and by silent agreement, they knew they’d have to soon forcibly carry Angus out before he started yet another pub brawl. And just as they came to this realization, a bottle wheezed past Jamie’s ear. Before he could even react, the pub exploded.

Angus disappeared under a pile of yellow and green. Rupert began peeling bodies off his friend, screeching in Gaelic. Jamie and Ian exchanged exasperated looks, before diving in to help their mates. Murtagh, seeing Joe about to join in, put a hand on his shoulder and grinning said, “‘ _Do nay harm,_ ’ is it no’?” Handed his coat to Joe, took his time neatly folding up his sleeves as he walked into the melee.

Angus’ roars could be heard beneath the heap, as the sound of howls, shattering glass and breaking bar stools filled the air. Rupert straightened up abruptly, having caught an elbow just above his right eye, cutting him, raised his head and howled “ _Wooo_! Bugger!” and flung himself back in.

By now both sets of fans had begun bashing each other. Joe couldn’t tell where any of his party were, neither could he tell whether the screams were out of anger or delight. _Both, definitely both_. He noticed the police casually walk into the pub, take in the scene, then, with a dexterity born of long experience, he thought, they calmly began breaking up the brawlers.

***

“Angus,” said one of the police officers, looking down at him as he staunched his bleeding nose with a napkin. From the tone of his voice, it wasn’t the first time - nor would it be the last - they’d found themselves in this situation.

“Taran,” Angus replied, sheepishly. They all sat on the sidewalk outside the pub, each nursing his own bruises.

“Jenny’s going to kill me,” Ian was saying, dejectedly.

“Did ye see how that strumpet in the red top was looking at me!” grinned Rupert, craning his neck back to see if she was still in the pub.

“Mmmph!” Murtagh grunted.

“How are we not getting arrested right now?” Joe anxiously asked looking down the line of seated drunken brawlers.

“It isna the first time we’ve found ourselves sitting here. Bloody Angus! Christ, Claire’s going to kill me,” Jamie said, rubbing a knot on his forehead gingerly.

After the usual lecture from the police, and an umpteenth warning, the police left the lads to their own devices, with the express instruction of calling it a night.

“Guess we’re done for the night, then,” Joe said, he couldn’t keep the tone of relief from his voice.

“Och!” Rupert laughed. “Not by a long shot!” he said helping Angus to his feet. Seeing the mutinous looks on the guys faces, ready to indeed call it a night, he added, “Look lads, it’s still early, we’re still whole… _ish_. It’s Jamie’s stag night! I know where we can go for good food, and where Angus won’t get himself into any trouble,” he coaxed.

With the promise of food thus made, they, rather reluctantly, agreed, trudging after Rupert as he led the way. As it turned out, there wasn’t a place in Scotland where Angus couldn’t get himself into trouble.

***

Claire leisurely did her rounds. It’d been a quiet and slow night, her thoughts drifting now and then to Jamie and what buffoonery him and his mates were up to. She flitted through wards, checking on patients, then made her way to the ER to see if any extra hands were required. She heard them before seeing them - rowdy laughter breaking the hush that had enwrapped the hospital all night. As she rounded the corner, her suspicions were verified when she saw them huddled round a bed clearly making jokes about their bedridden mate; Jamie’s broad back shook with laughter, Joe holding a chart in his hand with Ian peering over his shoulder ‘helping’ fill in the forms, Murtagh sitting pensively at bedside, and Rupert practically doubled over. They all looking thoroughly sauced.

Joe looked up, seeing her headed toward them, murmured something to Jamie who turned, beaming. Then as they all caught sight of her, they bellowed “ _EEEHHHH!!!_ ” deafeningly at her.

“What’s all this, then?” she asked coming level with them. Her eyes immediately taking in Jamie’s appearance. He seemed in good order, but for the massive bump on his forehead. Looking round, everyone in fact seemed to be scraped and bruised to some extent. Her eyes finally coming to rest on Angus, lying strewn in the bed, beard matted with blood, cloth held up to his swollen mouth. “God, do I even want to know?”

This only elicited more laughter and a harsh look from the matron on duty to keep it down.

Between fits of mirth they told her; about the match and pub fight, and stern warning from the police. “All this happened in a pub brawl?” she asked nodding toward their various injuries.

“This,” Jamie said, touching his forehead, “aye. But Angus-ss-ss,” he couldn’t finish. It was infectious and even though she still didn’t know what was the cause of it, she quivered with amusement.

Joe, having recovered first, continued the story. After they’d left the pub, Rupert had taken them for dinner, somewhere he knew Angus wouldn’t cause anymore trouble - or so they thought.

“A _brothel_?!” Claire said, incredulous.

“Nay, no’ a bawdy house! A strip club,” Rupert defended, plumping himself on a stool. “They serve a brilliant dinner menu, and well, I thought the girls would be a fair distraction, ye ken. For Angus,” he added at the last second.

“For Angus, indeed,” she said, voice dripping with cynicism, giving Jamie the side-eye.

“To be fair, the dinner was _really_ good,” Jamie put in, earnestly.

“While we ate, Angus went to have a little watch, as it were,” Ian continued, delicately. “And well… We heard a wee stramash start up and as we went to see what was to do…”

“Dorcas kicked his teeth in - literally!” Rupert finished, to gales of hilarity. Looking over at the bed, Angus gave her a gaping, brilliantly toothless grin from ear to ear - his freshly missing bottom teeth matching the gap of his missing front teeth - his lip split as he smiled, a trickle of blood running into his beard. He’d apparently gotten far too _familiar_ for her liking, to which she drove her heel into his face.

“That’ll teach you to get too handsy!” Claire admonished, barely keeping her own laughter at bay.

“I think I thwallowed one!” he informed her, happily.


	20. Chapter 20

##  **Part 19.**

 

 A week later, Claire and Jamie stood in their kitchen dubiously looking at a plate of fresh chocolate chip cookies covered with cling film Angus had brought in reparation for the stag night drama. It wasn’t the first time he’d brought them baked goods.

“What do you think?” Claire asked cautiously.

“I dinna ken,” Jamie replied, just as cautious.

Angus had come early that day, clean and sober, peace offering in hand. “I dinna know what to say about my behavior that night,” He began saying. “But I hope you’ll accept my apology.”

“This isna what I think it is, is it?” Jamie said, standing hands crossed across his chest, eyeing the plate with utmost skepticism.

“Och, nah! This time it’s a genuine apology, I swear!” Angus had assured, earnestly.

***

The last time Angus had “apologized”, he’d brought a lovely looking box of fudgy brownies, that were rather more _special_ than was entirely necessary. Back when Claire and Jamie had just gotten together, Angus had thought it funny to regale her - much to Claire’s irritation and Jamie’s embarrassment - with detailed stories of a hot and heavy summer fling in Paris Jamie once had in his late teens, that - as it turned out, according to Jamie - had fizzled out toward the end, with Annalise getting back together with her ex.

Claire had sniffed the brownies once and was about to stop him from taking a bite, that is, until he asked, “Why d’ye suppose they put oregano in the brownies, Sassenach?” as he looked them over critically.

 _What’s the harm_? she’d thought. They were home, alone, and not likely to do anything stupid.

Home alone they were, immune to stupidity they were not. They’d eaten half the plate before things started getting well dodgy. Jamie had started singing, she couldn’t quite make out what it was, but caught a trailing, yet distinct, _“I’m yeeers!”_ He’d managed to convince himself the song would be stuck in his mind for good; Claire had to make sure he didn’t hurt himself, the way he’d begun digging his finger in his ear trying to get it out.

“Some say the stars are actually angels sitting by wee fires,” Jamie said in wonder, a while later. They’d spent an unimaginable amount of time looking out the window.

“A med school professor of mine used to love telling us the stars were the souls of the departed. That no matter how many we saved, it was inevitable we’d lose people. We were doctors, not Gods.” Claire said, reverently. They never did realize they’d been avidly staring at the glow of streetlights.

When Claire had finally started regaining some of her mental faculties, she noticed Jamie’s shirt was on the sofa, but Jamie himself wasn’t in the apartment anymore - the front door slightly left ajar, his deep rumble coming from the hallway. She glanced at her phone’s screen which read _4:42am_. She headed for the door, Jamie’s voice getting clearer. He was knocking on the Bugs’ door with the sort of loudness that strived to be gentle and quiet.

“Mrs. Bug? Are ye there? Mrs. Bug? D’ye perchance have some of those wee cheese crumpets ye make? The wee cheese crumpets ye made last Sunday fer church? Mrs. Bu- Sassenach! D’ye remember the wee cheese crumpets? The wee crumpets Mrs. Bug made with cheese?”

“Stop saying ‘wee cheese crumpets’ will you and come on,” Claire hissed at him, grabbing his arm. He was still gesturing just how wee they’d been as Claire tugged him back into the apartment.

“Do we have some left over, then?” he asked hopefully looking round the kitchen. “The wee cheese crumpets.”

“Jamie, the brownies had pot in them,” she immediately came clean as she went to the fridge and got him a strawberry popsicle, and steered him to the couch. “I’m sorry, I should have told you at once, but I couldn’t resist, I was curious to see what would happen,” she added, her voice shaking with laughter.

He sat down like a sack of potatoes as his face went slowly through a range of emotions, to finally dawning realization. He looked up at her, popsicle in hand, eyes full of accusation.

“Damn ye, woman.”

When they were clear-headed enough to go outside again the next day, they found a plate of fresh wee cheese crumpets by their door.

***

Now, they looked at Angus’ latest gift, the memory of the many odd things that’d happened that night running through their minds and had no wish for a repeat. Jamie gingerly peeled the cling film off a fraction.

“Please give it a wee sniff, Sassenach. Mind, dinna jest this time, aye?” He said, giving her a mock gimlet eye.

Obligingly, she bent down, inhaling deeply. “Flour, chocolate, and sugar. Pretty much just a harmless cookie,” she said business-like, then, voice cracking with humor, added, “Not one sign of any, ummm… _oregano_.”

***

“What time are Jenny and Gail meant to get here,” Jamie said as he snapped the last cookie in two and handing her the bigger half. Claire sat comfortably on his lap with no particular intention to move unless absolutely necessary. He’d settled them on the sofa, her weight a comfort to him.

“About an hour or so. Jenny won’t say what we’ll be doing, just that I was to rustle up a few more people and we should all wear comfy shoes. But seeing as how Jenny and I both have an extra passenger on board, doubt it’ll be anything that’ll involve the police,” she looked at him teasingly. He snorted, finishing off his cookie.

“Ye dinna ken Jenny all that well then,” he retorted. “So who did you manage to rustle up?” he asked.

“Oh, on short notice: Mrs. Bug and Geillis Duncan from the hospital,” she said, making Jamie laugh.

“Mrs Bug? For a hen night? And isn’t Geillis the, umm, wee naughty one ye told me about? Should be an interest evening,” he said.

“Mm-hm. Well technically, Geillis overheard me speaking to Jenny on the phone and well, now she’s coming along too,” she replied with a smile.

Claire nestled closer. In truth she didn’t much feel like going out, but Jenny - and Gail - had insisted she have herself a night out. So she’d agreed. She thought though, Jamie’s arms were in her honest opinion, far more enjoyable than anything Jenny had mind.

***

“Wait, hold on. _What_ are we doing exactly?” Claire asked, unsure she’d heard Jenny right. Their little group stood outside what looked like a massive loft, with a bored looking attendant waiting to let them in.

“It’s simple really, we get locked into yon room and have an hour to figure out how to escape it,” Jenny said cheerily.

“Och, aye? And what happens if we canna figure out the clues before the hour is finished? Are we to be locked up indefinitely?” Mrs. Bug asked nervously.

Jenny squinted at the pamphlet she held. “I dinna really ken…” she said, “but they have a wee board that has the fastest times groups have completed the room. I reckon we can get our names on yon board!” She looked expectantly at Claire, who had an amused look on her face, shaking her head.

“You’re just like your brother! Can’t turn away from a challenge can you? Well, then, c’mon ladies, let’s break some records. What _is_ the record?” Claire said, she couldn’t keep the excitement from building in her voice.

“20 minutes, 21 seconds,” Jenny answered promptly.

“I thought you said this was a hen night, Rand-sorry-Beauchamp? Shouldn’t we be, you know,” Geillis said wickedly, “getting plastered while impressively built _naked_ men dance about?” she asked while thumbing through her phone, which had been pinging insistently since she arrived.

“Ideally,” said Gail, “but seeing as how Claire _and_ Jenny both can’t drink…”

“And the naked men?”

“Can bide!” put in Mrs. Bug, primly. “Men arena the be all, end all. And they shouldna be!”

“Alright, then. We just have to leave our phones wi’ him, “ Jenny pointed at the attendant, “And head on inside.”

Geillis didn’t look at all pleased with having to leave her phone, but sighed dramatically, popping it into the box with everyone else’s with a murmured, “Dinner and drinks - of your choosing, of course - on me after.”

An undeniable buzz thrummed through them as they stepped through the door.

***

The room had been 18th Century themed, many of the puzzles imaginatively archaic. They’d blazed through the first few easily enough within ten minutes, much to Jenny’s pleasure, but as the puzzles got progressively - and frustratingly - harder, they found themselves at a dead stop staring at a wagon wheel with a cipher etched upon it for a solid fifteen minutes.

“I swear I’m going to break something, can someone please figure this out! It canna be that bloody hard!” Geillis exclaimed, frustrated. She’d been jotting down possible answers on her palm (a pen having been one of the things they’d unlocked in a previous puzzle). As much as she played indifferent to the night’s activities, Geillis had gotten into the puzzles just as much as everyone else.  She cast a gimlet eye around at the others, who were absorbed in trying to connect the clue to what they’d figured out already.

“It must be connected to the ‘stranger in the night’ puzzle,” Jenny said logically.

“Aye? Is that the one at the crofter’s cabin?” asked Mrs. Bug.

“No, that was the secret room bit,” Gail said.

“Hold on, then what was the castle dungeon again?” Claire asked.

“Oh, for the love of _Christ_!” Geillis shrieked, snapping the pen in two.

***

Suffice it to say, they didn’t figure it out. Whatever clue the cipher wheel contained, it went unsolved - and the pimply-faced attendant refused to tell them, in case they wanted to come back and have another go - much to the frustration of all.

“Well, bugger them,” Geillis said, checking her phone and frowning. “Let’s go have ourselves some dinner. And an ass load of drinks, eh?”

***

“I didna ken cocktails could be quite so… _Colourful_ ,” Jenny was saying, dubiously looking at a flaming blue one Geillis was industriously putting away. Gail eyeing her own yellow one with some hesitance.

“What? With a husband and three bairns, does one forget what fun looks like?” Geillis asked. Jenny laughed.

“Och sometimes. I love them to bits, but the Lord knows it’s good to get away for an evening!”

“Joe’s always hinting he’s ready for kids - and so I am, truth be told - but it does feel extremely pleasant to not be someone’s wife for a night,” Gail said taking a cautious sip.

“Well, I for one can’t wait to be married,” Claire put in with a smile, seeing the side-eyes from the others, she added, “If married life’s anything like what life’s like now with Jamie, I gladly want a lifetime of it. And - I beg your pardon Mrs. Bug - the _sex_ -”

“Oh, yes. Do tell!” Geillis cheekily said. “From the glimpses I got of yer ginger-haired laddie sneaking about the hospital during yer midnight trysts, I’d say he’s one hell of a ride.”

“EH uh-uh! I dinna need to be hearin’ about my brother’s bedroom efficien-”

“- _Prolific_ bedroom efficiency,” Claire put in helpfully, grinning at Gail.

“Being as yer already with child,” Jenny continued, unperturbed by the interruption, “I ken _he_ ken’s his business right enough. Plus ye willna be too keen when you’ve bairns snapping at yer ankles and a husband who’s off busy “working”. Isn’t that right Mrs. Bug?” Jenny mock-warned. Claire knew Jamie wasn’t going to be _that_ kind of husband, so did Jenny. By all accounts he’d probably be the exact opposite.

“Weel. Lads can get a wee bit… Complacent, ye could say, once they find themselves settled. What with words like “romance” and “wooing” seemingly neither needed nor dwelled upon anymore. _But_ , Arch and I do live quite close by, and the walls arena all that thick… I will say yon laddie sure knows his way about it. As do ye, lass. Heavens, the skelloching!” teased Mrs. Bug, eyes sparkling, making Claire blush as the others giggled.

“Mrs. Bug!”

“Now, ladies! The night’s still young and so are we! What’s next?” Gail said putting down her cocktail and looking expectantly around the table.

***

Jamie could hear them coming up the stairs near two in the morning, singing in loud whispers, heels clattering against the stone floors. He opened the door just as Claire was about to put in her key.

“Jenny, Gail and Geillis are spending the night,” she said breathless, her voice a little raw and without preamble.

“Oh, aye? And Mrs. Bug?” he asked.

She gestured at a rather giddy looking Mrs. Bug stumbling into her apartment. “Good night Mrs. Bug!!” they all chorused as the door shut with a loud clatter. Stepping out of the way as the ladies stumbled in, Claire lagging behind to give him a kiss hello.

“We called Joe in the taxi. And Geillis, well, let’s just say her late night rendezvous was rather more preoccupied attending his _wife_. Much to Geillis’ fury,” she said, recalling the drink-fueled, cell-phone throwing rage Geillis had gotten into with her mystery man, “thought it best she come with us, lest she find her way to his apartment to give him a piece of her mind in person.” Which had then prompted them to find the nearest dance club to dance the night’s stress away. Watching the other three seemingly trying to drunkenly harmonize and Geillis declaring for the umpteenth time that night, “All. Men. Are. Fecking. Wankers,” seemed a fitting end to what turned out to be quite a willy nilly night.

Jamie came up behind Claire and gently rubbed her shoulders. “Had a good time, then?” He asked her quietly, moving her hair away from neck and placing a kiss on her nape.

“Mmm… Had an _interesting_ time. You haven’t lived till you’ve seen Mrs. Bug dancing to EDM!” She cleared her throat and leaned back. “Take the bedroom ladies, Jamie and I are good with the couch.”

“We are?” Jamie inquired looking over her shoulder at her. She discreetly slipped her hand behind and grabbed a handful of his bum, squeezing, pulling him closer.

“I don’t mind the close quarters. You?” she said turning in his arms, both hands now intently kneading his behind. He smiled and shook his head, his hands starting their own explorations. Jenny snorted unbecomingly behind Claire.

“To bed wi’ ye, Janet,” Jamie said, not taking his eyes off Claire.

Claire sighed and turned to see Geillis sprawled on the couch and Jenny trying to take off her heels, her feet having swelled up.

“I’ll just get them settled, shall I?” she whispered to Jamie, reluctantly extricating herself from his arms. And grabbing hold of her erstwhile Sirens, headed for the bedroom, whereupon seeing the massive bed, all three stretched out haphazardly and promptly fell asleep.

Claire closed the door behind her and slowly made her way back to the living room, shedding her jacket and shoes (her feet sore beyond belief), her loose fitting dress felt welcoming light against her skin, she absently rubbed her tiny baby bump as she walked. Jamie was waiting for her on the sofa, she could see he was sleepy, but alert.

“Yer sure ye’ll be comfortable, Sassenach? I can sleep on the floor-” Jamie began sitting up, but she put a hand on his shoulder, pushing him back down.

“I’ll be in your arms. There’s nothing more comfortable than that,” she said definitely. She settled beside him, fitting her body to his, arms wrapped round his waist. He pulled the plaid throw off the sofa and covered them both. They lay quietly for a time, listening to the soft snores of the other three in the bedroom - making sure they really were out for the count. Then Claire’s hand deftly undid his board shorts.

“Sassenach, I dinna think-” Jamie began a little hesitant, he’d always been a little shy - albeit thoroughly willing - of being intimate where other people could walk in on them. Even when he’d visit her at the hospital, she’d have to constantly assure him they wouldn’t be caught. She silenced his protest with her lips, her hand left him, only to take his and slide it between her legs.

“I’m tired of talking, Jamie. I’ve been on my feet all night and now all I want to do… Well, you know exactly what it is I want. Come here,” she whispered against his neck. He let out a rather high pitched squeal as she lightly dragged her nails against him, making her laugh. “Now, hush,” she breathed, teeth fastening on the base of his neck, and he said no more.


	21. Chapter 21

##  **Part 20.**

With the wedding only three weeks away, Jamie had left early for Lallybroch to help finish the preparations, while Claire worked a few extra shifts in order to free herself up for Hogmanay. That included working over Christmas. It also meant this would be the longest she’d be away from Jamie since they’d been together. The prospect was not a pleasant one.

She, Joe, Gail and the Bugs’ were to drive to Lallybroch together a couple of days before the wedding for Claire’s final fitting with Jenny, and a constant frantic reminder of, “carefully, mind!” from Jamie every time they spoke. As much as she wanted to see him (going so far as trying to convince him to Skype), he insisted they only speak on the phone when necessary and briefly even then. She knew he wanted a space that made the next time they saw each other have an impact. Which made her also think he’d keep his distance till the wedding once she got to Lallybroch as well.

She was right.

***

Lallybroch had always been beautiful. She’d marveled at the rustic simplicity of it during Samhain; before she and Jamie’d left, it had felt very much like home. But there was something magical about the place caked in snow in the soft evening light.

“Feels like we’ve just been transported back in time,” Gail said peering out the window at the estate. Even though Lallybroch had been fitted with every modern convenience imaginable, it had been done in a way none of those conveniences showed.

Jenny met them at the top of the front steps, her smile as wide as her outstretched arms. “There ye are! Hope ye didna have any trouble finding the place on your own?” she asked, as Claire stepped into her embrace.

“No. Thought I’d maybe taken a wrong turn some time back, but then saw the village,” Claire replied, a bit distracted as Jenny stuck a hand out stopping Joe from coming in. “What’s the matter, Jenny?”

“Och! Nothing’s the matter, only the lads will be staying in the wee cottage up near the kirk till the wedding,” she said, pointing Joe and Arch down the path they needed to take. “Just follow the sound of the stramash, gentlemen,” she added encouragingly.

“Isn’t the cottage a bit… battered?” _Battered_ was rather the understatement; last Claire’d seen it, it was an utterly bedraggled shell. Jenny laughed.

“Aye, but seeing as how Jamie’s insisting on this _prohibition_ of his, I’m sure he won’t mind roughing it for a few days. The lads on the other hand,” she said giving Gail and Mrs. Bug a look, then taking them both by the arm and steered them toward the parlor.

***

They sat by the fire, warm cups of tea in hand, listening to distant catches of laughter that came from the lads’ cottage. Claire had finished with her fittings about an hour after they’d arrived, and was finally ready to spend the rest of the time unwinding with the ladies. Yet last minute wedding prep questions ran haphazardly through her mind; every one she had though, was deftly answered. The caterers and the rest of the guests were to arrive within a day of the wedding and were to be housed in and around the estate - weather being what it was, Jenny preferred everyone and everything be at Lallybroch a day before the wedding. Everything was set, she assured. It was officially, the calm.

Jenny cradled her youngest, her other two little ones had long since been put to bed by Ian, who made a brief appearance to help settle them down. He’d spoken briefly and rapidly to Jenny in Gaelic, the only word Claire thought she was able to catch was, “ _Cha mhór_ ”. _Almost_.

“Everything alright with the lads?” She asked quietly as Ian left.

“Aye, just a wee bit cold, is all,” Jenny replied, shifting Kitty into a more comfortable position. “And ye? How’re ye feeling?” She asked in return.

“I’m fine. Tired and my back and feet ache, but fine,” Claire said, gently rubbing at her the small of her back. Her pregnancy hadn’t been difficult so far - bar the morning sickness - barely three months, she’d only just started to really show. Her body had began to ache in odd ways she attributed to its change to accommodate her new occupant. Not to mention the heartburn, which Mrs. Bug confidently declared meant a baby with hair - Claire herself convinced was simply a result of her extra spicy dinner. “I do miss Jamie’s foot rubs,” she added longingly.

“Och, he’s a sweet laddie, true enough, but ye’ll get enough of the lad to make ye sick of seeing him,” Mrs. Bug put in. Her cheeks crimson from the wee dram she’d topped off her tea with. And by _wee_ , was actually half the decanter. The others chimed in teasingly regaling her with all the ways her soon-to-be husband would annoy her. Leaving piles of dishes seemingly for the fairies to take care of. Dirty laundry kicked into a corner of the bedroom. The ever reliable “I’ll get to it tomorrow, aye,”. Even his breathing would grate on her nerves apparently.

Claire thought (or rather _hoped_ ) this highly unlikely. She’d thought like with every other thing in life, once the novelty of a thing wore off, that one would simply get used to the presence of it, settle into it. Not with Jamie though. Not yet anyway. Even though there were things that did annoy her - his stubbornness immediately coming to mind - she found that everyday brought with it something new, something different to love all over again. Whether it was the way he moved, or absently said something. The way he squinted in concentration when he read or fidgeted with his thick-rimmed glasses as he did so. Not to mention, she’d yet to get “tired” of exploring his body and all its hidden secrets. No, of that she was sure; there would always be something new to discover. To love. Even his breathing.

“Oh, I _highly_ doubt that Mrs. Bug,” she said smiling to herself, taking a sip of her tea.

***

Jamie’d been surrounded by the lads and their bawdy, chafing humor for far too long, he thought. His body ached, and not from sleeping on the floor. In fact, he hadn’t needed to by the time Claire and the others had arrived the day before. They were nearly finished. His surprise almost complete.

He’d tasked Jenny with keeping Claire indoors till the wedding, lest she stubble upon it. Now, he found himself unable to stay indoors, restless and uneasy. The relentless ribbing from the lads not helping ease his wame. Even though he knew he needed to rest - the next day promised to be long, he left the lads to themselves for a bit and headed out into a snowy night for a bit of air.

It’d snowed all day, the evening bringing with it a heavy dusting, his footsteps making a pleasant crunching sound, breaking the night’s silence. He walked around the big house, which was quiet and cozy, as most had already gone to bed. As he rounded the corner toward where his mother’s rose brier grew along the side of the house, he saw a soft light spill from one the bedrooms upstairs. It took him a moment to realize it came from Claire’s bedroom. It wasn’t all that late, but he hadn’t thought to find her still awake. He was about to turn back toward the cottage, when he saw her pacing by the window.

He hesitated only a moment, the jests the lads had been making, made his mind up for him. He knew it was irrational, but he needed to talk to her. He crept through the house as quietly as he could up to her room, then with the lightest of taps, knocked on the door. 

“Claire?” He whispered, hearing her pacing pause, before her hurried footsteps headed toward the door.

She made to open it, but felt his grip on the handle keeping the door shut. “Jamie? Is everything alright?” she tentatively asked.

“Aye, it is. Only I saw your light on as I was walking by,” he said, hand still gripping the handle tight as she tugged at it experimentally. “Is everything ok, Sassenach?” He felt the tension on the handle ease as she let go and heard her light, rueful laugh.

“I just sleep ill without you, is all. You know that,” she said.

“Aye. Me too.” She could hear his smile and the change in his voice as he sat down. Slowly she did as well, resting her temple against the door. They were silent for some time, listening to the subtle shift the other made on the other side.

“Claire?”

“Mmm?”

“Are ye… I mean not that I at all think - that is - It’s only seeing ye pacing, I was wondering-” A quiet, yet sharp knock from the other side stopped his sputtering. He smiled, but went on hesitantly. “Are ye perchance having… doubts? I wouldna be-”

“Jamie.” She said in hushed disbelief. “What would even make you think such a thing?”

He sighed, letting his head fall back against the door with a light thump. “It’s only when I saw ye by the window just now, I’d just left the lads after they’d been chafing me something fierce. They’d said you’d lose interest if I kept insisting we didna see each other. I couldna help thinking of ye and yon Englishman. I couldna stop the thought… the _fear_ from crossing my mind,” he ended sheepishly. She wanted nothing more than to wrench the door open and give him a thorough shake.

“God, love, you really can be a numpty when you want to,” she said, exasperated, yet smiling nonetheless. “It’s barely been a month, for one thing, yet my body yearns for you in ways I never knew possible. And that doesn’t even begin to describe the utter _ache_ of not being with you I have within me. I can’t do without you… Don’t you know?” she said her voice becoming even more quiet. He heard the change in her voice as she turned her head slightly toward the door. “Don’t any of you? You are the part of me I never knew I was missing.”

He smiled feeling the inexplicable weight that sat in his heart, lift. He shut his eyes and said a silent prayer before replying.

“Aye. I ken. It has always been forever for me too, my Sassenach,” he finally whispered. “I’ll see you tomorrow, _mo nighean donn_.”


	22. Chapter 22

##  **Part 21.**

Claire woke the next morning to the sound of Jenny barking instructions downstairs, with Gail and Mrs. Bug bustling round her bedroom. She languidly stretched out, watching Gail throw back the windows and Mrs. Bug setting a breakfast tray down beside her. The day was uncharacteristically sunny after the night’s snowfall. The air pleasantly chilly still.

“Up wi’ ye lass! Ye dinna want to be looking like a melted candle on yer wedding day!” Mrs. Bug fussed, forcibly sitting Claire up and placing the tray on her lap. “Gail’s preparing ye a bath. Eat up, _a leannan_ , ye’ll be needing yer strength for what’s sure to be a long day!”

Claire groaned at this unceremonious wakening, stomach violently wobbling at the smell of the fried eggs. Hearing her groans, Gail peeked her head out of the bathroom, “You alright?” she asked, concerned.

“Mm-hm,” Claire replied, not trusting herself to speak just yet. “Maybe just the tea for now, Mrs. Bug,” she added hastily, moving the tray away.

***

“Are ye nervous, lad?” Murtagh cocked an eyebrow at his godson, as he watched him fumble with the buttons of his shirt.

“Nah! Just cold,” Jamie smirked back. “Speaking of cold, _a goistidh_. Dinna be forgetting to light the fires well before hand. I dinna want Claire catching a chill, aye.”

“Dinna fash, the lads and I have that well sorted. She willna want for anything today,” Murtagh assured him calmly, rummaging through his bag for something.

“Also, the footpath boards leading to the kirk. It’s a wee bit sunny, I’m afraid the path’s going to turn to mush by the time we make our way there. She’s wearing white, aye?” Jamie continued to fret. All morning, in fact, about the kirk, the food, the mud, much to Murtagh’s exasperation.

“Everything is under control, ye wee gomerel! Ye need to take a breath, and enjoy yer bloody wedding day!” Murtagh lightly chastised.

“Aye, I ken. Its only-”

“I ken what it’s only, lad,” Murtagh moved and put his hand on Jamie’s shoulder. “Here,” he said, handing him a small, round metal object. “Yer Da gave this to me for ye. For when ye’d be needing it. ‘Tis yer family’s coat of arms.”

Jamie looked down at his father’s Fraser brooch, unable to speak for the lump it brought to his throat seeing it. It had been proudly passed down for generations. Now it was his. He ran his thumbs gently over the two stags and his family’s motto, written neatly beneath. “Je Suis Prest,” he whispered. _I am ready_.

“Are ye, then?” Murtagh asked seriously.

“Aye. I am.” Jamie said.

***

Claire fidgeted with her gown as Jenny did the final touch ups with her hair, _tsk_ ing as the stubborn curls refused to be tamed. Claire closed her eyes and mouthed the odd words over and over trying to get them just right.

“Hair down, then,” Jenny decided to herself, letting the unruly curls cascade down Claire’s shoulders, then smartly tucking the thin vine headband into her hair.

“Say it again, Jenny,” Claire said nervously.

“Ye ken the words, Claire. Ye’ve kent them for weeks. Dinna fash,” Jenny reassured her. “And dinna do that! Ye’ll crease the dress.”

Claire was sure she’d memorized them, but her nerves seemed to be getting the best of her. Did she have the pronunciation right? Would she flub them at the wrong time? Would Jamie laugh at her funny accent?

“Do you think he won’t want to do it, Jenny?” Claire asked, unsure, peering over her shoulder.

Jenny took a moment before answering. “Ye ken it’s the way of things here. Aye, some do choose not to go too traditional when marrying nowadays, but I’m positive Jamie didna bring it up himsel’ was because he thought _you_ wouldna want to do it.” She came round and knelt beside Claire, laying her hand over hers. “Are ye sure?”

At Claire’s immediate nod, Jenny straightened up. “Then Jamie will be willing. I ken that for certain.”

***

Jamie stood, checking for the umpteenth time if he’d put everything on - to which there was countless small details only Murtagh and Arch had kept track of for him - if he had everything he’d need sorted - _Ring? Check. Priest? Check. Vows memorized? Check. Fire and candles well lit? Check and check. Guests? Assembled and ready. Best man? A numpty, but check. Bride?_

The appearance of Jenny and the other ladies - flushed and elated - signaled the beginning. Claire was on her way; his stomach flipped a thousand times, his legs felt oddly wobbly. Murtagh had assured him the path was ready, she wouldna be getting her dress all muddy or wet. From the immaculate state of Jenny and the rest, he knew Murtagh had been right.

A low hum fell over everyone in the kirk as they peered toward the door, waiting. Jamie could feel his heart thumping painfully in his chest, only Ian’s hand on his shoulder keeping him from bounding toward the door, to Claire.

He could hear their footsteps reverberate softly on the wood path before he saw them. Then there she stood, Joe by her side. She wore a woolen cloak Jamie recognized as his mother’s. Even though the wee bit of early morning sun had turned the ground to mush, he knew the air was biting.

They paused at the threshold, Joe gently taking the cloak from her shoulders; Jamie swallowed audibly.

She looked absolutely ethereal. Her gown was lighter than he’d have expected, flowing around her like wisps of clouds, delicately taking the shape of her and the bairn as she moved, yet not hugging her tightly. Her hair flowed about her, held carefully by a wee delicate headband. She was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. He’d stared for several moments, and just as he realized he’d forgotten to breath, he saw Claire too had been rooted to the spot as she caught sight of him at the alter.

Claire had never seen anything more breathtaking. A Highlander if ever she saw one, in full regalia. And he wore it as if he’d done so all his life, like he truly was born to it. He stood, straight backed and beautifully imposing, his plaid gracefully draping over one shoulder, held with a elegant stag brooch, with sporran and dirk, completing the vision. His flaming hair catching the candle light, setting a halo round him. It was true then, she thought, one could indeed be frozen, breathless, in time. Her vision suddenly blurred.

Feeling Joe’s hand on her elbow, Claire blinked back the tears and moved as if hypnotized, unable to take her eyes off Jamie, as he stood before her just as transfixed. If it wasn’t for Joe’s patient grip, she’d have cleared the length of the aisle in three strides.

Jamie’s face was calm. The only sign of just how strongly he kept his emotions in check was the way he held his hands together; clasped in front him, white knuckled in an effort not to show them trembling. The smile he’d had from the moment she’d walked in, broadened as he reached out for her hand. His palms just as sweaty as hers.

Claire and Jamie took their place in front of the priest as a hush fell over everyone. They barely heard anything being said - simply having eyes only for each other, unwilling to let go of the other’s hand for even a moment. Finally sensing movement around them, they realized it was time to stand once more for the exchanging of the vows. They took deep, steadying breaths, their grip on each other tightening. The priest’s voice sounded faint and distant, as if it fell away just before it quite reached them, with everything else around them.

_“I, James Alexander Malcolm Mackenzie Fraser, take thee Claire Elizabeth Beauchamp to be my wedded wife…”_

_“I, Claire Elizabeth Beauchamp, take thee James Alexander Malcolm Mackenzie Fraser to be my wedded husband…”_

_“To have and to hold…”_

_“From this day forth. For better or worse…”_

_“In sickness and in health…”_

_“Till death us do part.”_

“Do you have the rings?” the priest asked Ian and Joe, who promptly produced from their sporrans a pair beautiful silver rings - Joe rather a little more enthusiastically than Ian, being the first time he’d ever worn a kilt and sporran.

Claire had insisted she didn’t need an engagement ring, much to Jamie’s contention. But she’d had a compromise he finally agreed to. She’d pick his wedding and his hers. Silver. And neither would show the other till it was time to put them on.

Claire’s breath caught in her throat when she saw the little circlet in Jamie’s hand. It was beautiful. An elegant intertwining Highland design, connected together by a delicate thistle in the centre. Something had been inscribed on the inside, but her vision had blurred once again before she could make out the words and Jamie had somewhat shakily slipped the ring onto her finger.

Claire’s own hands shook enough she was sure she’d drop the ring she held. A wide, solid silver band, with a simple inscription of it’s own; something Jamie had whispered in her ear the first time they’d made love. Something she wasn’t likely to ever forget;  _There’s the 2 of us now._

The moment she’d slid the ring on his finger, he fiercely pressed her hand to his lips and stepped forward. She looked up at his beaming face, eyes glistening. He didn’t -  _couldn’t -_  wait for the priest, saying quietly enough for only Claire to hear, “too late to back out now, Sassenach. Yer stuck wi’ me,” he smiled, a twinkle in his eye, and bent his head gently placing his lips on hers. Every single thing around them dimmed - the sensation of the kiss amplifying the feel in every nerve ending they had. The warmth and softness spoke only of eternal promise. The pressure and tremble erasing all other thought and doubt.

Jamie felt a light hand on his shoulder after some time, a sense of where he stood slowly came back to him. He pulled away to see Claire’s eyes still closed and knew she’d just been as lost in him as he was in her. He turned to find Murtagh standing beside him. “Have ye your _sgian dhu_ on ye, Jamie?” At Jamie’s nod, he held his hand out expectantly. Baffled, Jamie handed him the wickedly sharp knife, only to have his confusion replaced immediately by shock as Murtagh took a firm hold of his right hand and cut him neatly across the base of his wrist. Before he had time to react, he watched as Claire willing gave her hand over to Murtagh, not once taking her eyes off Jamie himself. “It’s alright,” she mouthed to him, as Murtagh cut. He knew what was happening, but hadn’t at all expected Claire to want it or even approve; the word ‘unsanitary’ kept fleeting through his mind.

“D’ye mind the words?” asked Murtagh; not - to Jamie’s surprise - Claire, but to him. _Had she planned this all along, then?_

“Aye,’ Jamie replied, blankly.

Murtagh wrapped their hands together - wrist to bloody wrist - with a soft swatch of cloth, before giving them a gruff “Mmmph!” and Claire a wink. Worried Claire may find the words hard to pronounce, Jamie quietly asked if she wanted them said in English.

“Gaelic,” she replied firmly.

And with one, final reassuring squeeze of her hand, they began nervously, the words sealing them forever.

_“You are Blood of my Blood, and Bone of my Bone,”_

_“I give you my Body, that we Two might be One,”_

_“I give you my Spirit, till our Life shall be Done.”_

***

“How on earth are you lads not freezing your bollocks off?” Claire asked, fiddling with the binding on her wrist as she watched Joe tend to Jamie’s.

“Och! It’s none so bad,” Jamie said, giving her a cheeky grin.

“I’ll say it is a bit brisk, but I wasn’t about to break with tradition!” Joe added, cheerfully waggling, making them both laugh.

“Well, you both look like you could use a dram or two,” Claire said pulling her white shawl tighter about her. The room was warm and cozy; the fire and bodies giving off a comfortable heat, but she’d feel sudden chills hit her unexpectedly from the open windows - left open to help the room breath.

“Aye, _ghraidh_ , I think yer right,” Jamie said, clapping Joe on the shoulder in thanks for binding his wrist and lead him to where the rest of the lads stood by the drinks table. Claire watched as the raucous crowd gathered Jamie in.

“The _look_ on yer face, laddie!” Murtagh teased between fits of laughter. “Thought ye were goin’ to swoon, so soon as I cut ye!”

Claire unconsciously rolled her ring around her finger, still getting used to the comforting weight of it, her fingers lightly tracing, committing to memory its design. A nervous flutter went through her belly, yet she felt all at once, at peace. She turned then, away from any prying eyes, her curiosity had been nagging at her since Jamie’d put the ring on her finger. Discreetly slipping the ring off (for what would be the only time she ever did), she tilted it to and fro trying to catch the inscription.

She squinted at it, confused. _Is that Latin?_ she thought. She’d been concentrating so hard, she hadn’t heard Jamie come up behind her till he wrapped his arms about her.

“ _Da mi basia mille_ ,” he whispered in her ear, smiling, gently pushing the ring snugly back to the base her finger.

“What does it mean?” she whispered. But before he could elaborate any further, Jenny’s voice boomed behind them.

“If ye could all please follow me, supper willna keep wi’ waiting!”

Planting a kiss on his wife’s neck, Jamie took hold of her waist and steered her toward their table, without a word.


	23. Chapter 23

##  **Part 22.**

**  
**

 Between the eating, speeches, dancing and the first footing - for which Jamie had been kept locked up in the study - it wasn’t until well past midnight that Claire and Jamie slipped away, finally finding themselves alone at last - Claire blindfolded, arms outstretched in front of her as Jamie guided her from behind up a path.

“I have a wee gift for ye, Sassenach. When yer ready to call it a night,” Jamie had said to her, as they swayed to the blaring music around them earlier that evening.

“What, more than what you’ve already given me?” She asked. She’d meant it lightly, but couldn’t keep the emotion from her voice.

“A lifetime more, _ghraidh_ ,” he said, kissing her.

In truth, it had been a long enough day that her feet ached and her body began thrumming with fatigue, and she clung to Jamie more for his strength than the music they danced to, wishing for nothing more than to be alone with her husband. _Husband_. How wonderfully strange it felt to finally call Jamie so, yet husband he’d always seemed to be all along.

All night long she saw whispered words pass between Jamie and the lads, sometimes Ian slipped away, sometimes Murtagh, before they’d rush back and murmur something to a relieved-looking Jamie. She tried catching his eye whenever one of these peculiar exchanges occurred, but he always avoided her gaze.

Now, she kept losing her footing on the invisibly slippery path, but Jamie’s hands on her waist steadied her - the faint sounds of those waiting for the New Year’s dawn still not quite ready for the night’s celebrations to end, echoed behind them. Her fingers suddenly came upon what she assumed to be a wooden door.

“Jamie?”

“Almost there, _ghraidh_.”

She felt him fumble with the door handle for a moment, before feeling a soft gust of warm air as it swung open. Jamie’s hands left her as she heard him shut the door behind them. His hands returned a moment later, resting lightly on her shoulders. “Alright,” he said quietly, taking the blindfold off.

She stood in a room she had never been in before, lit only by a roaring fire and a scatter of candles. The furniture rustic and cozy. Jamie took her cloak from her shoulders, placing it on a peg by the door as Claire wandered around, picking things up and putting them down. She stopped behind the sofa, looking at Jamie.

“D’ye mind the wee cottage on the other side of the kirk yard?” he said answering her look.

“The dilapidated one?” she asked amazed.

“Aye, the same. I thought perhaps it’d be nice for us to have a wee place of our own here. With Jenny’s family getting bigger - and ours too,” he said fondly, looking at her tummy, “I thought our own space for privacy couldna hurt. It’s why I wanted to come up here early. To restore the place best I could before the wedding. Ian had been working on it ever since Samhain, but I kent we’d have a lot to get done, so the lads and I…” His voice trailed off as he saw Claire’s eyes glistening. “Claire? I didna mean to make ye cry-”

“I’m not crying because I’m upset, you numpty,” she said with a shaky laugh. “How could I be. It’s beautiful, Jamie.”

He let out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding. “It, umm, still needs some work though. The kitchen hasna been finished, the roof leaks a bit still. We couldna manage getting the power turned on, but the bedrooms - four of them - are finished, as is the study through there,” he gestured toward a closed door, “the bathrooms work, so dinna feel shy to use them and I made sure the lads kept the fires lit so it’d be warm for when we got here-”

She moved toward him as he spoke and swiftly silenced his ramblings by taking his mouth in hers. “It’s perfect,” she said after a while, running her hands up and down his arms. He flushed lightly, pleased, the tips of his ears going bright pink. “Show me the rest?”

A quick tour revealed the rustically sturdy cottage and the potential it still held. The study and bedrooms were even cozier than the living room. Jamie left their bedroom for last. A solid oak bed comfortably dominated the room, a crackling fire cast a dancing light all around them. Claire noticed her things had all been brought down from the main house and had neatly been put away.

Jamie’d stood behind her, a firm grip on her waist, keeping Claire from losing her balance as she kicked her shoes off - his soon followed. She’d worn flats, but her feet had become swollen from all the dancing.

“God, all I want to do is get naked, get under the covers and _sleep_. I am proper knackered!” she said with longing, looking at the inviting bed.

“Is that all, then?” Jamie asked, as he helped take the wee headband from her hair and ran his hands through it, taking the shape of her scalp, rubbing gently.

“Mmm, well…” she said coquettishly, “perhaps not _all_ I want, if you keep that up…” She turned then, tugging at his vest, the buttons coming undone under her practiced touch and dropping it to the floor; he’d unpinned the plaid from his shoulder and taken off his coat for the dancing. She kissed him long and slow, untucking his shirt before slipping her hands beneath. He was solid and warm under her touch, her fingers lightly finding his nipples, making him moan against her mouth.

“You looked so beautiful today, _mo nighean donn_ , in yer gown all floating about ye so,” his voice came breathless against her. He could feel her smile into him. “All I could think was when I’d finally have ye to mysel’.”

“And you?” Claire said, stepping back to pull his shirt over his head. “I couldn’t take my eyes off you all night. You in your kilt. It’s a real wonder how I managed to keep my hands from you with you looking like you did,” she said cheekily, making him laughed.

“As I recall,” he said, taking hold of her dress at the shoulders, which readily slid off and wafted to the floor like a cloud on a breeze - she wore naught but a short, silk slip beneath - “you pinching my bottom when you thought nobody was looking,” he cocked an eyebrow down at her. “Couldna keep yer hands to herself _all_ night.” His hands traveled down her sides and taking a firm grip of her bottom, lifted her so she wrapped her legs round his waist.

“Nor should I have to,” she said primly. “I get to pinch your backside whenever and however I like now.” She smoothed his hair from his forehead, taking hold of the nape of his neck and pulled him towards her once more. He moved towards the bed, making sure not to lose touch with her lips.

When he reached the bed, he just held her a moment. “Ye can do wi’ me as ye like, _mo nighean donn_ ,” he said, before lowering her down on the bed. He stood above her, her legs still loosely wrapped about his lower thighs, and - carefully unhooking her ankles - began to unwrap his kilt. Not once taking his eyes from hers.

She lay back, watching him, the firelight playing off of his body, accentuating the contours. He was being deliberately slow. She ran her feet over his legs and under the hem of the kilt, feeling his calves and thighs erupt with goosebumps. His kilt came loose, which was promptly thrown haphazardly to the side. Claire wrapped her legs round his waist once more, pulling him to her, but with a firm hand, he stopped her.

“Love?” she asked, trying to reach for his arms.

“It’s been sae long, Claire, since we’ve had each other so. I canna even say how these last few weeks have been wi’out ye by my side.” He ran his hands over her thighs, edging her slip up over her hips.

“I’ve missed you,” she said, sitting up, “I’ve missed you so much, Jamie.”

“I know it. That unbearable ache deep in the bones,” he whispered huskily, suddenly kneeling down before her. “Lie back, my Sassenach. Lie still.”

His mouth was warm and soft against her skin. Every inch of her felt like an exposed raw nerve. Everything he did felt exquisitely amplified. Her legs draped over his shoulders, her thighs held firmly apart, he ran his tongue lightly over her. She began to writhe as the sensation threatened to overwhelm her, but his hold only tightened, as he pulled her to him. She moaned, long and deep and shuddered then, feeling as though thousands of electric charges were going off in her blood all at once.

She felt Jamie mouth journey toward her navel, “Hello, my wee one,” he whispered, tenderly kissing her baby bump, before journeying onward. Claire’s slip floated higher and higher up as she arched towards him, making room for his questing mouth, till he finally reached her chest, planting a lingering kiss in the hollow between her breasts. He paused, resting his forehead against her, taking a deep breath, his hands moving down her sides. Jamie knew how sensitive her breasts had become with pregnancy - sometimes too sensitive even for his fingers - but never his mouth. He bent down, taking a nipple into his mouth, lips and tongue a gentle caress on her tender skin. She let out a breathless, high pitched cry. Cradling his head, her fingers buried in his thick mop. “Harder.”

After an impossibly long time later, unable to take it anymore, her body taut as a bow, urged Jamie to join her. “Jamie,” she whispered, taking hold of his hair and pulling him up toward her. “I can’t-” but he kissed her deeply then, stealing whatever words she had left.

Her fingers traced the scars that spanned his back, traveling lower. “Don’t make me pinch your bottom again, Jamie Fraser,” she teased, but pinching him anyway. The rumble of his laughter reverberated through her. He took hold of her waist and deftly moved her to the middle of the bed - taking her slip off entirely in the process - giving himself room to comfortably lie with her.

“I think my bum’s gone permanently numb from all yer bloody pinching, Claire _Fraser_ ,” he laughed, his own hands moving down with a single minded determination. In one, swift motion, he cupped her, lifting her, and smoothly thrust home. He let out a relieved groan, the air escaping from his lungs completely.

The world dissolved and reshaped around them. Their languid motions melting their bodies as they molded to one another. Neither knew where one began and the other ended. It never mattered. Only thing that ever did was finding each other completely when they inevitably shattered.

***

Jamie lay on his back, the weight of Claire’s leg, heavy and warm, draped comfortably across his middle. Their heads lay on the same pillow, eyes locked, each unwilling to look away. Jamie’s hand rested on of her leg, the sound of their breathing and Claire’s fingers rubbing against his chest hairs the only sound breaking the night’s hush. Suddenly they caught the sound of distant laughter on the wind.

“How are they still awake?” Claire asked quietly.

“Moving to the end of the house, I expect. See what omens the New Year may bring,” Jamie replied, just as quietly.

“Mmm. And what omens lay ahead for us, do you think?” She asked, taking his nipple gently between her fingers.

“ _A Dhia,_ woman. Are ye not tired, then?” He said pulling her leg more securely over him.

“I’ll always have energy for you,” she said, smiling. “The omens?”

“Aye,” he breathed, his other hand drawing patterns all along her back. “I can only pray for good ones. We have our bairn. Each other. I dinna care overmuch about anything other than that, Sassenach.”

They lapsed back into a companionable silence, the dawn light just beginning to perforate the darkness around them, the fire having burned down to cinders. Jamie’s hand left her leg and took her hand on his chest. Bringing it slowly to his lips, kissing her ring, his rough stubble making her fingers twitch. Their foreheads came together gently, their eyes still locked.

“What does it mean, Jamie?”

He knew immediately what she meant. He shrugged shyly.

“Och, it’s just a bit from Catullus. _Da mi basia mille_ \- Give me a thousand kisses,” he whispered, kissing her. He went quiet and she nudged him in the ribs.

“Go on,” she urged.

“D’ye,” he began, tucking a curl behind her ear. “D’ye perchance remember the day I moved in next to ye?” he asked.

“I remember a fair bit of banging about and swearing,” she replied, fingers molding to the curve of his ribs.

“Aye. And Rupert was helping carry my bed when the eejit lost his grip and made the end I was holding crush my fingers against the wall,” he frowned disapprovingly at the memory. “Then, as I was counting to see I still had them attached to my hand, ye poked yer head out and asked, “You alright lads?”” he said mimicking her accent, getting a light slap on his chest for his trouble, making him laugh. “I just remember thinking ‘God, please tell me it isna just the pain making me see things and that she really _is_ standing there’. I’d never seen anything as beautiful in life. You all disheveled, with your curls all wild about ye, a pen tucked behind yer ear, fingers smudged with all manner of plant matter,” he laced his fingers with hers, and went on, “I could smell this incredible, heady earthy scent about ye, but it was yer lips I couldna stop staring at…” His little finger came up and traced her bottom lip. She took it between her teeth briefly.

“Didn’t you say you were fine, though? I distinctly remember you saying it was ‘naught but a wee scrape!’” she said, her leg hugging him tighter.

“Well I wasna gonna say it hurt like a bastard, the first I saw ye, am I? I didna want to appear unmanly,” he mumbled, ducking his head. He held on to her as her laughter practically shook the bed. It was infectious and he couldn’t help but join in too. “Ye smiled at me and my heart stopped right there in that hallway. I knew I was yers. And _you_ were mine.”

Her fingers moved to his face, eyebrow, the bridge of his nose, the stubble on his chin, taking the shape of his lips.

“I canna think of the Catullus’ poem without thinking of you - of _us_. It ran through my mind from the first ye smiled and ages after I first saw ye. Well, that-” he added, mischief lining every inch of his face, “-and The Doors’ ‘Hello, I love you’!” to which he proceeded to croak the first few lines.

“Stop! You’re such an idiot,” she laughed, shoving him lightly. They lay quiet for a while, enjoying the feel and rasp of skin against skin. There was no comfort greater than that of each other’s embrace. She’d thought he’d dozed off, when his voice came faintly through the dark.

“Would ye like to hear a wee bit of it? The Catullus, I mean.” At her nod, he put his forehead against hers once more and recited that which would forever remind him of her.

_“Come and let us live my dear. Let us love and never fear. And let amorous kisses dwell. On our lips begin and tell. A thousand and a hundred score. A hundred and a thousand more.”_

He gently wiped away a tear that slid silently down her nose, smiling. “Always.”

“Always.”

***


	24. Chapter 24

##  **Epilogue.**

 Jamie slowly floated to the surface of consciousness, realizing it was Claire’s voice that pulled him from his dreams of her and reverberated gently through him. In the same moment he also realized she wasn’t in bed, but stood by the open window of their bedroom, a light breeze fluttering the curtain, the dawning sun silhouetting her and Faith with a radiant glow. She had her lips close to Faith’s ear, as she swayed the wee lassie calmly from side to side. He caught the words on the air, though she barely sang over a whisper.

> _“Hey! Mr. Tambourine Man, play a song for me. I’m not sleepy and there is no place I’m going to._
> 
> _Hey! Mr Tambourine Man, play a song for me. In the jingle jangle morning I’ll come followin’ you.”_

He watched them, Faith finally settling in Claire’s arms, lulled by the vibration emanating from Claire’s chest where she snuggled, more than from just her mother’s voice. She’d been restless with colic all night, there didn’t seem much of anything either could do to ease her, but she’d finally fallen into an uncomfortable sleep between them. Now, watching Claire cradle their little bundle, so small she could cup her head in the palm of her hand, Claire cooed,

> _“I’m ready to go anywhere, I’m ready for to fade. Into my own parade, cast your dancing spell my way. I promise to go under it.”_

His chest swelled seeing his family, safe and healthy, then tightening unbearably at the thought of what could have happened not three months past. Faith had decided she’d be two months early, much to everyone’s panic. He remembered the pain that had woken Claire - and _him_ \- that night. Remembered the blood. Remembered how cold Claire had been. How he had to sit, helpless, waiting, while she was wheeled into surgery. He’d wanted more than anything to be in there with her, the fear that pale, unconscious figure would be his last sight of her (and the baby). Remembered Joe walking out, a huge smile on his face. 

 _“It’s a girl,”_ he’d said, putting a hand on Jamie’s shoulder, squeezing reassuringly. _“She’s a little one for sure, but she should be ok. For now though, she’ll have to be kept in an incubator for a while till she gets a smidge more stronger.”_

 _“And… Claire?”_ Jamie asked, his heart racing. Joe’s smile grew wider.

_“She’s fine. She’ll be sore for a bit, but she too will be just fine. She’s just resting now, but you can go in and see her and the baby, whenever you’re ready.”_

_“Taing Dhia!”_ Jamie had breathed, tears of tension and joy escaping him. His legs gave way and Joe helped him to the seats nearby and sat with him till Jamie’s body shook not from fear or grief, but relief and delight. Then, when Jamie was ready and the nurse had informed them Claire had been moved from recover to her room, Joe walked with him.

> _“Though you might hear laughin’, spinnin’, swingin’ madly across the sun. It’s not aimed at anyone, it’s just escapin’ on the run. And but for the sky there are no fences facin'”_

He’d walked in and saw Claire, stubbornly fight against her own pain, extending her hand into the incubator, her finger tightly gripped in Faith’s itty bitty fist, Claire’s thumb rubbing the tiny knuckles. She was crying quietly, but completely broke down when she saw Jamie standing by the bed - he’d moved so silently she hadn’t noticed till she felt the heat of him beside her.

With a grimace, yet without a word, she made room for him behind her and he slipped into the narrow bed with her. He was afraid to touch her, but needed to, if only to reassure himself she was really there. And alive. That they both were.

> _“And if you hear vague traces of skippin’ reels of rhyme to your tambourine in time, it’s just a ragged clown behind. I wouldn’t pay it any mind, it’s just a shadow you’re seein’ that he’s chasing.”_

He’d kissed her shoulder, let his lips linger there, her gown dampening from the emotion that escaped him. They lay quietly watching their - _A Dhia_ _she was small!_ \- miracle. Her wee chest rising and falling.

Claire turned from the window, and caught sight of her tousled haired husband watching her and smiled. She didn’t stop humming as she swayed her way back to bed. He lifted the covers and she slid in beside him, placing Faith in the hollow of his bare chest, where she fit comfortably - she’d finally slept - and Claire fit herself into Jamie’s side, her head on his shoulder.

> _“Hey Mr. Tambourine Man, play a song for me. In the jingle jangle morning, I’ll come followin’ you.”_

***

Brianna Ellen Beauchamp Fraser followed her sister (albeit much less dramatically) a couple of years later. She found herself born in the Lallybroch countryside, Claire and Jamie having moved there permanently after Faith’s first birthday. Faith had been small and weak and hadn’t improved as quickly as they prayed she would, and so they’d moved, thinking (rightly so) the fresh air and healthier living would help her grow better. And with Claire having finished her residency, decided to open her very own dream little practice in Broch Mordha, tending to those in the area who needed it. She was always welcome back in Edinburgh should she choose to come back, but hadn’t felt the need to - lest one of her patients needed more advanced care only the hospital could help provide. While Jamie could work from home most days, having manuscripts and such sent to him at Lallybroch - only heading into Edinburgh for urgent meetings when the need arose.

They lived and loved and grew. And having Jenny and Ian so close, they never wanted for alone time - the girls always welcome at the big house for some time with their cousins, leaving their parents be for a while.

It was a beautiful cottage, and perfectly fit four… And who knew, maybe more.

**THE END.**


End file.
